


Bad Omens

by a_forgotten_note



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: A slow burn for the ages, Angel Crowley (Good Omens), Demon Aziraphale (Good Omens), Falling in love over and over for 6000 years, LOTS of Questions, M/M, Mutual Pining, reverse au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-10 09:26:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20525726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_forgotten_note/pseuds/a_forgotten_note
Summary: Throughout thousands of stories, Aziraphale and Crowley have fallen in love. An angel and a demon pining, wining, and dining their way through the centuries...But what if their positions had been reversed?If Aziraphale was Fallen and Crowley had stayed an angel, where would they be? What would they have?What would their love be worth in the moment of truth?This is their story from the beginning. TheveryBeginning.





	1. The Garden, The Ark, and Babel

A Seraphim had been placed on the grass, soft as down and cool with the shade of a forbidden apple tree. God looked down upon her creation... and pitied him. Really, truly pitied him. His bones had been broken and reset. His feathers shorn and regrown. Beautiful hair that was the sunset given physical form was cut short... and then he was left on the floor of Her created Heavens.

“We punished him,” a Cherubim had told her with pride. They puffed up their chest while the Thrones looked on, glaring at her poor Seraphim. “Raphael needed to be punished.”

She had said nothing. She simply took her Seraphim, cradled his small, fragile body in her hands... and placed him in her newest, most prized creation. A large, walled garden filled with waterfalls, lakes, and lush, green plants. It was warm. It was safe. A place where he would be safe. His own haven away from Heaven; a practice for the rest of the world she planned to create.

She called the garden: Eden.

And there he had slept for nearly a decade. His hair grew long again. His wings, still white, still pure, were fanned out on the grass, draped over his shoulders as he slept, splayed out on his stomach and reaching across the grass that had been ordered to remain gentle. It was a small mercy, just a little comfort for the punishment he had endured. Hopefully he would not turn bitter.

When he woke, his golden eyes broke open slowly. He blinked blearily up at the trees, mildly alarmed before he sat up, touching the grass in pure wonder. He looked around, perhaps to see if he had company... and God pitied the hopeful glint in his eye.

“Where... where am I?” He asked aloud, and God smiled. Always asking questions. It was what had gotten him into this mess in the first place. But it had been by design. She had planned it all down to the crack of his screaming when her sweet Aziraphale fell. She had planned for the rattling of the stars, the break of Raphael’s heart, and the tear of his voice... she had not planned for her other angels to punish him.

And so there he sat under the apple tree, a baffled look on his face as he reached up to brush a mess of curling red hair from his golden eyes.

“You are in Eden, my angel,” she said softly. His head snapped back, looking up in wonder as She spoke down to him. “The Garden of Eden.”

“Garden...” he repeated, breathless and awed. “And... and who are you?”

“I am your Almighty. Your creator. I am God,” she said softly. It was sad to see that Raphael was gone. This angel was a blank slate. A restart. A sad reflection of the angel that once loved her and hung off her shoulder, laughing and singing. But he could be rebuilt. He could be renewed. It would just take time. “You are my angel, sent to guard this apple tree.”

“Guard it... from whom?”

“From the human I will create.”

“What’s a human?”

God chuckled. “So many questions.”

He paused, looked down at himself, then murmured, “Who... who am I?”

“You are an angel.”

“Is that my name?”

She paused; this was an opportunity. A rebirth of sorts. The renaissance of Raphael. “What do you wish to be called?”

He blinked, thoroughly flustered by the question. It seemed he hadn’t been expecting God to ask her own. So he sat, looked at the pure white robes gathered in his lap, and muttered to himself, “I... I don’t know.”

God hummed in response. “I am going to create something new, my angel. A creature called a Man. I will name him Adam.”

“Adam,” he echoed, awe-struck.

“And you will not let him eat the fruit from this tree.”

The angel cocked his head, all six wings stretching and fluttering as he stared up at the Heavens. “Why not?”

“Because I command it. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” he said, a little putout. “I understand.”

“Very good.”

There was a long, almost uncomfortable pause where the angel’s lips moved around an unspoken word. He parted his lips, ready to say it, but the sound never came. “There’s a word on my tongue,” he said eventually. God knew exactly what word it was. Rather, She knew the name. But She didn’t say it. The angel looked up at the sky again, baffled. “Did you put it there?”

“No,” She said, “I didn’t.”

He blinked, trying to sound out the word on his own. “Ah… ahhh… phale? Fall. Fell.” He blinked, suddenly alarmed as he held a hand to his chest. “Did I… did I fall?”

God’s light was warm on him as she murmured, “No.”

“Am I going to?”

“No,” She said again. “I’ll see to that.”

“Good. Good,” he smiled, the light of the stars sparkling in his fiery hair. He looked up at her, purely curious in an innocent, heartwarming way. After a moment, the smile faded, and he was left looking a little shaken. “That word… Fall? Falling. Fell. It sounds sad. I don’t like it.”

“You aren’t Fallen. You are safe in the Garden.”

“I like it here,” he said, quick to distract himself. He spread his hands in the grass and dirt, coming up with fistfuls of lush, green grass. “It’s so warm and full of life. I like it. It makes me happy.”

“Good,” God said with a hint of weariness in her voice. “Let’s keep it that way.”

God made Adam. He and the angel got along fine… but there was a distance between them. An isolation that wasn’t bridged. A few days later, God returned to make a new human. Adam looked lonely all by himself, and there was something missing in the way he wandered the garden all on his own. It made Her think of Raphael and Aziraphale. They had wandered the length of Heaven together, hand-in-hand and happy. Adam needed someone. So, She created Eve.

And Raphael (not Raphael, not anymore) _loved_ more company. He liked to sit under the shade of the apple tree, watching Adam and Eve as they walked through the garden. There was a loneliness in his eyes, one that not even _he_ understood. It was a vague memory. A slight reflection of something he could or could not remember. He listened to them talk, smiled at them when they looked his way, curious and shy, and waved when they hesitantly greeted them.

It was Eve who came to sit by him first. She liked to look up at the tree, marveling at the ripe, juicy fruit… before she laid herself in the angel’s lap and sighed contentedly. Not-Raphael liked Eve. He liked the curl of her black hair. He liked the softness of her body and the warmth of her smile. He liked the way she and Adam ran through the trees and chased each other the same way mating bucks would chase their does. He liked Adam, too. He liked the two of them. He liked what they had with each other… whatever it was. It was love, of course, but of a different caliber than what he knew. It was something more… physical. Something that he could hold in his hand and turn in the sunlight, watching the light bounce off the facets. It was unlike angelic love… and it was curious, to say the least.

“Angel,” said Eve one day in the garden. It was their fifth day in the Garden, and she looked positively beside herself with relaxation. She was spread out in his lap while he played with her hair, and Adam was at her feet, peeling an orange with idle determination. Not-Raphael looked down at her, smiled, and she said, “Do you speak to God?”

Not-Raphael hesitated. “Sometimes I do.”

“Did she ever tell you why we couldn’t eat from this tree?”

Not-Raphael fidgeted; he wasn’t even sure why they weren’t allowed the fruit in the first place. It felt odd for him to reject her question. She was curious. If even _he _was curious, what was the harm in asking? Shrugging a little, Not-Raphael continued to fiddle with her hair, twisting it together in lopsided braids while Adam fed her an orange slice.

“She never told me… but, really, if it weren’t important, she wouldn’t have warned you. Why go against her? Best to do what she says. She created you, didn’t she?”

Eve chewed her orange slice, thoughtful and giving weight to the question before she sat up and away from the angel. She kissed Adam – warm, soft and slow – and took his hand. They left after that, gone to tumble around the bushes beyond the lake. That left Not-Raphael all alone. All alone and without his precious company.

In these moments, God almost regretted putting her broken little Seraphim in the Garden. He had been through so much already and the world hadn’t even properly begun. Instead, he sat beneath the shade of a forbidden apple tree, touching his fingertips to his lips like he could imagine what it would be like to kiss someone. To _really_ kiss someone like Eve kissed Adam. To feel that physical affection and have it all for his own. God pitied him in more ways than one.

But there was a trick to this all. God loved to pull a fancy little switch-a-roo, especially when Rube Goldberg machines had yet to be invented for another several thousand years. All things happened for a reason, by the carefully drafted plans of Her own devising. And She let her Garden come crashing down like a perfectly laid block of dominos (which also hadn’t been invented yet).

It happened when Not-Raphael had been called away from the tree, just for a moment. A demon – one white-haired smiling demon – had appeared to Eve in the form of a deceivingly harmless owl, cooing the gentlest of temptations in her ear. She had listened, of course. She had eaten the fruit, as God knew she would. And, of course, Eve and Adam were cast out of the Garden.

And Her poor angel, her poor Seraphim… he cried at the loss of them. He screamed and shouted and pounded the earth with his hands. He screamed to no avail. He implored her for _mercy_ on his beloved humans. His six wings stood on end, each feather trembling as he cried and kicked and gasped for breath.

“Please!” He screeched, “Don’t take them away! I don’t want to be alone! _Please! _God! Lord!” She didn’t answer him, but the angel cried nonetheless. “Mother, please… _please_… you said you wanted me to be happy, didn’t you? So why send them away? Why would you do this?”

She did not answer. Instead, she watched as the demon Aziraphale swooped down from the trees and came to stand over her angel. He watched for a moment, eyeing the way Not-Raphael clawed at the dirt and cried with loud, heavy sobs. She was curious; demons were not quite under her control. She had a plan, of course. An Ineffable plan that none could stray from… it was the in-between bits that were the most interesting when it came to navigating the space between point A and point B.

So, was Aziraphale bitter for his Falling? Would he take it out on this angel that was crying so heavily he might flood his precious Garden? Would he be sharp and cruel, like the angels that had crushed Raphael to the floors of Heaven and punished him for simply being in love?

No. No, he wouldn’t. He was Aziraphale, a former angel and Principality. He was a guardian, if anything. And moreover, he was still frightfully (and condemningly) in love with Raphael. God watched with a passive gaze; Aziraphale, despite the fire and sulfur, still had kindness stowed away in his heart. A strange development for a demon. It showed in the way he stretched out one of his wings to shelter her Seraphim from the harsh sunlight.

“It wasn’t for lack of trying,” Aziraphale said softly. Not-Raphael lifted his head sharply, pushing his hair from his face as he gasped for breath. Aziraphale stood over him, calm and placid in the face of angelic calamity.

Not-Raphael blinked hard as he wiped tears from his face. “What?”

“I said: it wasn’t for lack of trying. You couldn’t have known what would happen.”

The angel huffed, glancing toward the tree with a bitter frown. “I was supposed to _guard_ the tree… and now they’re gone. And I’m alone.”

“Hardly. I’m here, aren’t I?”

“You… you’re a demon,” the angel said with a discomforted huff. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips, adjusting his gray robes as he said, “Well… it’s all a bit little silly, don’t you think? Putting a bit fruit tree in the middle of the garden with a ‘Please don’t touch’ sign on it?” The angel gave Aziraphale a baffled, judging look, and Aziraphale merely shrugged. “I’m simply saying, my dear, that it would’ve made more sense to put it somewhere a little harder to reach.”

“Like on the moon?” The angel suggested.

“I’m sure a tall mountain would’ve sufficed.” The demon replied.

“If… if it had been far, far away, maybe… but it’s here, and it happened, and…” the angel stopped, took a shuddering, wobbly breath and said, “It’s my fault.”

Aziraphale quirked an eyebrow and stepped a little closer. His wing was still sheltering the angel, even if the angel didn’t care for the shade. He glanced at the tree. “You aren’t the one that tempted Eve, you know.”

“No… no, it was _you_… you… you…” the angel paused, glanced up at him, and said, “Who are you?”

Aziraphale gave the angel a quick glance before his eyes flickered back to the tree. “I am Aziraphale. And you?”

The angel blinked. “I… ah-fell. I think… I think I know that name.”

Aziraphale’s heart burned with hope. So bright, so fearful, even God could feel it where She watched from the heavens, pitying and quiet. Her angel did not remember anything important. Just the vague sound and taste of a name on his tongue. The suggestion of a cry when he watched Aziraphale fall. And God… she looked away. She had better things to do.

It left Aziraphale and the angel in a peaceable, unsupervised interaction. One that brimmed with confusion and hope. Confusion that would not be satisfied and hope that would be dashed, but it was there nonetheless.

Turning a bit, Aziraphale offered the angel a hand up. “Do you know me, angel? Have we met?”

Hope, hope, hope… _please say yes_, his voice begged. _Say you remember me, beloved. Say you still love me, despite the Fall. Say you still want me and my broken, ashen wings. Say you still need me._

The angel blinked and his golden eyes narrowed… but he took the offered hand. “Just the name. Bet the other angels warned me of you. Being a demon and all.”

“Ah, yes. That’s me,” Aziraphale laughed, the sound high and caught in his throat. “A wily adversary.”

The angel frowned. “A wily adversary that had my friends banished from Eden.”

Giving him an amused look, Aziraphale shook his head. “I was simply told to go cause mischief. I never explicitly _told _Eve to eat the apple. I simply… _implied_ that there might be merit to the obtaining of knowledge.”

The angel’s face fell as he looked to the Eastern gate, his eyes filling with fresh tears as he blubbered, “And they’re out there, all alone… no angels to protect them and –”

“Oh, for Hell’s sake… you don’t think I’d let them off with _nothing_ do you?”

Aziraphale waved his hand, and suddenly they stood on the wall overlooking Eden, watching Adam and Eve wander off into the oncoming night. Soon, it would rain. It hadn’t happened before… but it would. It would storm like nothing ever before. And the angel looked terrified… and so wondrously enraptured. He held onto Aziraphale’s arm, grasping for support as he watched Adam hold a sword aloft. A sword that was ablaze. The angel’s eyes went wide.

“Is… is that…?”

“A flaming sword, yes,” Aziraphale said with a nonchalant wiggle of his shoulders. His black wings fluttered a bit, brushing against two of the angel’s six wings. He looked at them. At the pure, white feathers and the connecting joints. He looked at the angel’s awed, relieved smile. He saw wonder. He saw hope. Hope for something entirely _new_. Aziraphale smiled. “I wouldn’t just let your friends wander away with no hope, my dear.”

The angel’s eyes went wide as he smiled with disbelief. “You just… gave it to them?”

“Yes I did, angel.”

The angel smiled and squeezed his arm tightly. “Anthony.”

“Sorry?”

“My name,” the angel, Anthony, said. “My Lord said I could choose a name. I picked Anthony.”

“Anthony,” Aziraphale repeated, tasting the sound on his tongue. It was different from Raphael. Different in a sense that made him softer. More human. Less of a decoration on the throne of the Almighty and more like an actual angel. An angel who simply wanted to love, to ask questions, to _know_ the world. Aziraphale nodded with a smile. “Anthony… I like the sound of it. Rolls off the tongue.”

Anthony gave him a strange, wobbly smile. “You’re oddly kind for a demon.”

“And you’re oddly kind _toward_ a demon,” Aziraphale responded, his blue eyes glittering in the sunlight.

There was a peculiar thing about Aziraphale’s eyes. Once, in Heaven, they had been the splendor of a bright, summer day. They had been a cloudless, blue sky. Eyes that went on forever into the distance, broken only by the dark of pupils that expanded and contracted whenever he set sight on Raphael.

His true form – as in all angels – had multitudes of eyes. Many burning wings and golden rays of light… now, Aziraphale’s eyes had been altered. Gone were his pupils. Now, where there had been ordinary, baby blue eyes… there was nothing but the expanse of an endless sky. No pause. No break. Just blue iris that left any onlooker feeling like they might fall into that blue and never escape.

Those eyes, endless and surreal as they were… Anthony found himself intrigued by them. He gestured to them loosely, giving Aziraphale a lopsided smile as he asked, “Your eyes… do all demons have eyes like that?”

“No,” Aziraphale said softly, his returning smile much sadder than Anthony’s. “My eyes are my punishment. I looked upon something incredible… and needed to be put in my place.”

Anthony stepped forward, eager for information. “What did you see?”

Chuckling a bit, Aziraphale glanced up as it began to rain. It was cold. Wet. Not exactly an enjoyable experience. To keep Anthony safe from it, Aziraphale lifted his wing and sheltered the curious angel, who, in turn, leaned into his side rather comfortably.

“What I saw,” Aziraphale said carefully as he nodded toward the desert meaningfully. “Is not of concern. We should focus on your… friends.”

“I can’t see why it’s so terrible,” Anthony said as he shivered under Aziraphale’s wing. Three of his own wings went to wrap around Aziraphale, cradling the demon as he idly spoke. “It’s knowledge. Why is that so bad? _Learning_ and _knowing_ things?”

“Funny.”

Anthony flinched, almost moving away before Aziraphale caught his hip and held him close. Anthony made no move to wriggle away. “Funny?”

“Quite. I’m here regretting my choice to give them a sword, you’re here thinking they shouldn’t have been punished… it’s funny. Ironic, even.” He glanced at Anthony and grinned wickedly. “Wouldn’t it be strange if I did the good thing and you did the bad one?”

“No. No, that wouldn’t be funny,” Anthony grumbled as he smothered a smile. “I’m an angel. You are a demon.”

“So the rumors say,” Aziraphale said softly before he glanced up at the sound of thunder. Anthony followed his gaze, still captivated by this new thing called ‘weather.’ Aziraphale smiled and drummed his finger over the crest of Anthony’s bony hip. “We’ll have to wait and see, though.”

“You think I’ll get in trouble?” Anthony asked, his voice strangely level. Aziraphale gave him a sidelong look, only finding detachment waiting for him.

“Oh, my dear, you’re an angel. I don’t really think you can do the wrong thing even if you tried.”

Anthony didn’t smile. He just nodded tiredly, like he was resigned to the whole ordeal. Without thought, he leaned into Aziraphale and sighed, “Maybe.”

“_Oh_, that’s a scandalous thing for an angel to say.”

Anthony pursed his lips. “Would you like me to lie?”

“Ah. It got even _more _scandalous.”

Pinching the demon’s arm, Anthony sighed and grumbled, “Azir… what was your name again?”

The demon’s fingers drummed against his hip, slow and methodical as he watched the storm clouds roil and twist in the sky. “Aziraphale, dearest.”

“Right. Well.” Anthony gestured to the receding shapes of Adam and Eve. “There’s no way for me to know if I did the right thing. I mean… I’m not the Almighty.”

Aziraphale frowned. “Right.”

“It’s all pretty garbled up in the _Plan_, I suppose.”

“As I said,” Aziraphale murmured, his eyes dark like the clouds as his brow furrowed with thought. “We’ll have to wait and see.”

+++++

The next time Anthony and Aziraphale crossed paths, it was in the dry sands of Mesopotamia. Anthony had been watching the events with Noah and his family unfold; the devotion of Noah and his instruction from God… he’d seen the light pour down on him, Heavenly and burning as Noah stared up, baffled by the instruction. Building a giant boat… putting pairs of animals on it… only his family would be spared… it all seemed a bit unfair.

And Anthony _loved_ humans. He loved their creativity, their imagination, and their enjoyment of life. He liked the way they created more life simply for the joy of doing it. He liked sitting in the dry, brittle grass with the children, telling them about the Garden and the Almighty and how he loved them all so, so much. He liked when they braided his hair and called him ‘angel’ and asked to hold his hand. He liked the way they banded together and laughed and shouted and played in the dirt… he liked them _so much_, so why destroy them? Because a few humans got it into their heads that God wasn’t as All-Mighty as she was? Because they were violent? Because they were corrupt?

Being tetchy over a few humans and planning a great flood to wipe them all out… it seemed a bit irrational. On the Almighty’s part, at least. But She was all-knowing. Omnipotent in the greatest sense. So she had to know what she was doing.

This doesn’t mean Anthony didn’t complain.

He wandered away from the humans that gathered to watch Noah build his ark. They watched and laughed and said it would come to nothing. Anthony almost pitied them as he walked away, his white robes turning beige from the dirt and the sand. When he tilted his head back to look up at the skies that were already heavy with rainclouds, he was given no flashes of insight. He was given no solid explanation from God. He simply stared, and She was silent.

“Why kill them all for the wrongs of the few?” He asked softly, his hands clenched into fists as he stood barefoot on the hot, dry sand. “It’s… it’s just like Adam,” he said sadly, “And Eve. It was _one _mistake. And they were cast out. Aren’t you supposed to love your creations?” No answer. Anthony pressed the point anyway. “Aren’t you supposed to _love_ humanity? They’re so fragile and… and _helpless_ and you’re going to _drown_ them? Why? Why would you do something so… so…” he paused, the word caught in his throat before he managed to choke out: “So _cruel_?”

“Careful, dearest,” a familiar voice said behind him. Anthony turned to see Aziraphale watching him with a stiff, uneasy smile. “Asking questions like that… it’s enough to make another angel Fall.”

Anthony frowned, pivoting where he stood to look at the ark. “But it’s true, isn’t it?”

“What is?” Aziraphale glanced at the ark, squinted at the line of animals being filed inside, and then back to Anthony. “And what is all this? Are we building a giant boat and filling it with a traveling zoo?”

Frowning a little harder, Anthony stepped close to Aziraphale. Even if they were a short distance away from the humans, he felt like discretion, at least, was warranted. “The Almighty is _angry_ with the humans.”

Aziraphale gave him a sidelong look. “You don’t say.”

“She’s planning a big storm to wipe out humanity. Some big, big storm.”

Now Aziraphale took a liberal step back to properly look at him. “Wipe out human—that doesn’t seem very righteous. Are you sure?” Anthony nodded grimly, and Aziraphale’s eyebrows made a run for his hairline. “And She’s just… going to get rid of them all, then? All willy-nilly?”

“Yes. Well, no. Not. Not really, I suppose,” Anthony gestured to the top of the ark. “Noah, up there… and his family, his sons and their wives… they’ll all be fine.”

Aziraphale was quiet for a moment, watching the dust kick up in the wake of little children running and playing with the animals. Anthony could almost feel the confusion coming off him in waves. Emotion was a very Heavenly thing. Feelings that came with soft, careful whispers of thought… desires were more of a demonic thing. But Aziraphale didn’t desire anything. Not in this moment. He was _feeling_ something. Something that made Anthony’s chest hurt a little bit more. He didn’t say anything about this; he simply stared up at the ark as Aziraphale reached out to grasp his wrist.

“They’re drowning everyone else,” Aziraphale said softly. Anthony didn’t say anything. The thought stung. Losing all the men and women… and the children. Oh, _Heavens_ the children… “Seems like something only Hell would dream up.”

“As a consolation prize, the Almighty is going to put up something new when it’s all over.”

“Ah. A present after the mass-drowning. How… quaint.”

Anthony sneered as he said, “It’ll be something called a ‘rain bow.’ Like that means anything.”

Aziraphale gave him a strange look. “You seem bitter.”

“Of _course _I’m bitter,” Anthony snapped as he wrenched his hand away from Aziraphale’s grip. He took a few paces on his own, trying to soothe the crackling frustration in his chest as he pushed his long, red hair from his eyes. His fingers felt along the braid a little boy had put there, and his heart broke just a bit more. “All these people are going to _die_. All of them… the children. The children haven’t done anything wrong!”

“I never said they did, darling.”

“Shut up!” Anthony shouted, glaring at Aziraphale’s painfully neutral expression. He paused, took a breath, and looked away. “Shut up. I’m… I don’t need your snippy comebacks.”

“You want to rave at the world,” Aziraphale said thoughtfully, his words concise in a way that cut deeper. “You want to rave at _God_. Which, in my experience, is a dangerous thing to do.”

Anthony turned back to him. “Is that why you Fell? Did you… did you yell at Her? Deny Her judgement?”

Aziraphale smiled but didn’t confirm or deny. “So, what will you do, angel? Sit and stew in your malcontent thoughts?”

Shuffling his foot unhappily, Anthony looked toward the crowd of onlookers. They were going to die. And he couldn’t save them. He wasn’t _allowed_ to save them. The only reason he was still wandering Earth was because the Archangels had gotten tired of him reminiscing about the Garden.

“Go on,” they had told him with a dismissive wave of their hands. The Thrones had given him odd looks. The Cherubims only looked at him with pity. Archangel Gabriel had shooed him away in the end, his violent violet eyes glinting sadly as he said, “Go and spread blessings. Spread the Grace of our Lord. That can’t be too difficult for you.”

And, in all honesty, it _wasn’t_. The aftereffects of humanity were a different story though. He wasn’t prepared for how much he’d love them. For how incredibly inventive and curious they were. He wasn’t ready for someone else (aside from himself) to ask _questions_. And they asked them. Oh, they asked so many questions it made his chest ache.

Pursing his lips, he shuffled his foot in the dirt. When he hit something sharp, he winced, lifted his foot, and found a cut in the sole of his foot. Blood the color do of golden sunlight welled up against the skin, and he placed his foot back down in the dirt. He lifted his eyes to see Aziraphale watching him, curious. Anthony sighed.

“There’s nothing I _can _do,” he said softly as he shuffled his foot in the dirt. The cut stung. The dirt ground into the blood. Angelic essence stained the earth… and lush grass began growing underfoot. It was soft. Almost pleasant against the scrape on his feet. Aziraphale watched this passively, waiting for more context as Anthony chewed his words. “I mean… can’t really go around saving people from the flood. As an angel, anyway. Can’t go against her plan. There’s nothing I can do.”

Aziraphale raised his chin and narrowed his eyes. “Isn’t there?”

Anthony paused, looking down at his feet to see that soft, green grass had grown around him in a three-foot radius. Still sour, he sat down on the soft patch, looking up at Aziraphale crossly. “There _isn’t_. It’s the Almighty’s decision and I have to… _deal _with it.”

Pursing his lips, Aziraphale walked in a slow, casual way as he circled Anthony where he sat. “And you’re certain of that?”

“She knows what She’s doing, I can’t go against what my Lord decides is part of her plan –”

“That’s the thing!” Aziraphale said suddenly, his hands coming to rest on Anthony’s shoulders. Anthony craned his neck back, looking up at Aziraphale’s endless, pupil-less blue eyes. Aziraphale smiled, and something stirred in Anthony’s stomach. Maybe it was excitement. Maybe it was anxiety. He wasn’t sure. Either way, Aziraphale smiled, and he was rapt with attention. “Her plan, after all. It’s not really understandable. Not to us. Ineffable, that’s what it is.”

“Ineffable,” Anthony repeated.

“Yes,” Aziraphale cooed as he let go and circled him again. “I mean… you could, potentially, save plenty of these innocent children.” Anthony made a show of turning away from Aziraphale, but the suggestion didn’t stop there as Aziraphale gestured to the ark vaguely. “Plenty of layers in there… surely, there’s got to be a little nook or cranny to hide a few little humans.”

“I can’t,” Anthony said, though the idea was starting to sound more appealing by the minute. He paused, then murmured more to himself than anyone else: “I shouldn’t.”

“Well. Look at it this way, darling,” Aziraphale said as he swooped close and crouched next to him. “If you were to _leave_ these children here… I could, potentially, tempt them into truly _wicked_ deeds before they die. Then their souls would belong to Hell, wouldn’t they?”

Anthony glanced at him, caught on Aziraphale’s grin, and then looked away. “You’d tempt children.”

“I’d tempt _anyone_. That’s my job.” Aziraphale stood upright, smoothing the folds of his black robe as he glanced up at the dark storm clouds above them. “Humans can turn fairly nasty when their lives are on the line. Perfect chance for me to step-in and earn my monthly quota.”

“So,” Anthony said softly. “If I were to save them…”

“You’d definitely stop me. You’d be _saving_ their _souls_. What an angel that would make you,” Aziraphale said, laying it on thick as he pat Anthony’s shoulder. “Would really rekindle their faith in the Almighty and all that nonsense.”

“And I couldn’t get in trouble,” Anthony said to himself. “Technically. If I were… _thwarting_ you and your plans.”

“Oh! _Thwarting_. Oh, I like that word,” Aziraphale chuckled as he passed a (surprisingly) gentle hand through Anthony’s fiery hair. Anthony didn’t flinch or pull away. The touch was kind. Warm. Even gentler than Gabriel’s hands on him when he returned to heaven. Softer than the touch of his fellow Seraphim as they gripped him and pulled him in. Aziraphale was feather-light. As if Anthony was made of glass. He glanced up to see Aziraphale smiling softly at him. “Let’s keep that one. Thwarting,” he repeated, clearly amused. “Yes, you really would be, wouldn’t you? Stopping a demon is such an _angelic _thing to do. Saving those lives from the demon. Can’t be punished for that, can you?”

Anthony twitched where he sat, looking out at the crowds and the wandering children with a hint of hope in his eyes. Even if he _did _sneak them onto the ark (which would be going against the demands of the Almighty) he could blame it on Aziraphale’s temptations. After all, he was a demon. Temptation was his job. As an angel, it could be argued that Anthony was simply too pure of heart to decline the idea of saving those innocent, young souls.

When Aziraphale took his hand away from Anthony’s hair and tucked his hands into his sleeves, he looked up at the rumbling, crackling sky with a thoughtful look on his face. “Well, darling, whatever you decide… you’d best choose soon.” Anthony didn’t move as a fat drop of rain fell on his hair. Aziraphale simply gave him a half-interested look as he said, “A flood waits for no man.”

Anthony didn’t correct him as he walked away with his shoulders straight and head held high. Surprisingly, with that strikingly white hair, he blended in with the crowd with irritating ease. No matter how hard Anthony strained his eyes, he couldn’t find him. Maybe he wasn’t even there anymore. Maybe he had miracle himself out of the storm, safe and comfortable while Anthony’s white robes turned heavy and damp with rain.

_A flood waits for no man, _he said. Anthony frowned. They weren’t men. They weren’t even women. They were more… and somewhat less. Ethereal beings without gender and without confines in their natural state. But Anthony knew what he meant.

The flood wouldn’t wait for the other humans. It wouldn’t be kind. It was meant to be a cruel kind of judgement. Punishment at its best.

It wasn’t that Anthony had to think about it. Not at all, really. He’d had his mind made up the moment Aziraphale had mentioned temptation. So he laid in wait, sitting on the bow of the ark and watching the way people scrambled and ducked and weaved… they ran from the thunder and lightning. From the rising waters and rushing wind. When he saw a group of children climbing into a tree to avoid the rising flood, he spread his wings and went to retrieve them. It might not have been _all _the innocent children… but helping a few was better than letting them all die.

They screamed when he appeared. Of course they did. They saw his golden eyes and glimmering red hair and his six wings shivering with light… and they screamed and closed their eyes. They looked away. Anthony didn’t wait. He plucked up one of the smallest children (while they kicked and screamed) and flew back to the ark. Noah didn’t see him steal away below deck. He didn’t see him slip down floor after floor, down compartments and nooks… until he found a good, warm corner. There, he placed the little boy on the floor and cradled his face in his hands.

“Don’t be afraid,” Anthony said, watching as the boy looked up at him with terrified awe. “I won’t let you drown. But you must be _quiet._”

Children are always curious. It’s one of the things Anthony _loved_ about them. So he wasn’t surprised when the child reached out and snagged his sleeve before he could get away. “Who are you?”

“I’m an angel,” Anthony said with a soft smile. He pulled his sleeve away, brushing a gentle thumb over the boy’s cheek before he stood upright. “I need to get the others. Stay here… stay hidden.”

Surprisingly, the boy nodded. He ducked behind a crate used to store food for Noah and his family… and he stayed there, quieter than the mice that were safely held somewhere on the ark.

This went on for nearly two hours – Anthony darting to and from the ark with children gathered up in his arms and his wings getting tired – and once the waters were high enough to push the ark up and off the ground, there were nearly twenty children holed up below-deck. They shivered, leaned into one another, and whispered softly. Some cried. Some reached for Anthony, seeing him as their only savior and surrogate parental figure until the flood was over.

He held them. Cooed to them. Murmured soft assurances that he wasn’t sure he even believed… but he did it. He loved them. Fed them from the rations Noah had set aside. He rocked an infant to sleep in his arms… and when all of them were dry and warm and comfortable… their little corner of the ark fell into a strange, uneasy quiet.

The children slept (including the infant held to Anthony’s breast) and he sat among them, warming them with Heavenly light and praying they wouldn’t be found. If the Almighty disapproved, surely, She would’ve said something before then. She didn’t. No blaring light blazed down on him. No booming voice declared him a traitor. He simply sat and felt the ark rock on the waves of a mighty flood as children ranging from infancy to teenage years curled close and tried to shelter themselves from the onslaught of a Godly, raging storm.

“How long?” One of them asked several days into the storm. Anthony’s stomach hurt from the rocking of the ship and he gave the young girl a dizzy look before she asked, “How long do we have to hide?”

Taking a deep, shuddery breath, Anthony shivered and pulled one of the younger children into his lap. They complied, lying back against his thighs and reaching up to pet his wings. He smiled at the attention, but it didn’t soothe the furrow in his brow as he said, “I don’t know. But when it’s done, you’ll be free.”

“What about my mother?” A boy asked.

“And our father?” His brother asked.

Anthony didn’t answer. He stayed quiet and pressed his lips tightly together as they continued their voyage to parts unknown. The rain went on… almost like it was never going to end. He went up to check several times, his eyes wide and hopeful as he looked up at the sky… but the roiling gray clouds never broke. Not once… for forty days and nights, they huddled close in the ship, keeping each other warm as Anthony slowly but surely started to go mad.

He tried sleeping on the fortieth night… he closed his eyes and sunk to the floor, a little boy clinging to his arm and a girl spread across his legs as he slipped into unconsciousness. It would have been comfortable if not for the buck and heave of the ship on the waves. The groan of the wood as it threatened to give under the weight of the animals above them… the stench of sweat and dirt and waste… it was exhausting. It was suffocating. Anthony was going to discorporate before the children could see sunlight once more.

“Poor angel,” a voice – Aziraphale’s voice – said softly. Anthony twitched where he lay, his body heavy and eyes uncooperative as he tried to wake up and look at the demon. When a hand reached out to pass lovingly through Anthony’s hair, he gave a soft, sad sigh. Aziraphale chuckled. “You look exhausted, darling.”

“’ziraphale…” he groaned, his eyes cracking open to see Aziraphale kneeling next to him. His blue eyes glowed subtly in the darkness of the corner, and in that glow, he saw the spread of his black, black wings. Sheltering them from prying eyes should they come searching. Anthony tried to sit up, or rather, he _began_ to sit up before one of his wings was caught under a sleeping child and he had to lie back once more. Frowning, he looked to Aziraphale for help. “Tell me it’s over. Tell me the rain has stopped.”

“You want me to lie, dearest?” Aziraphale asked, intrigued. “Because I can. First thing you learn as a demon; lying and such. Then comes stealing. And sinning. Oh, all that sin…”

“Hush,” Anthony sighed, his eyes slipping closed as Aziraphale continued to card a hand through his hair. Gentle, rhythmic, and soothing. Anthony let out a long, tired exhale. “We’re running out of food.”

Aziraphale’s hand stilled. “That’s… unfortunate.”

“Which is worse?” Anthony asked sleepily, “Drowning? Or starving?”

“A rather morbid question, dear boy.”

Anthony opened his eyes and gave Aziraphale a helpless look. “I brought them there. I told them… told them I could save them. Now look at us,” he gestured his free hand at the children that were spread around (and on top) of him. “We’re running out of food, the littlest one has a cough, and Shem is starting to get _curious_.” He paused to take a shuddery breath. “It’s only a matter of time before they come down here.”

Pursing his lips, Aziraphale sat down on one of the nearby crates, looking at the ragtag group of stowaways with a detached expression. “So,” said he, “Drowning or starving. That’s your question.”

“Which would be more _merciful_?” Anthony asked, his voice straining as he struggled to use his Grace to keep the children asleep and quiet. Aziraphale quirked an eyebrow, and Anthony gave him a strained look. “I can’t keep going on like this.”

“You’re a Seraphim.”

“Even Seraphims have their limits, demon.”

Aziraphale held up his hands in surrender and wiggled his shoulders theatrically. “Well, _excuse me_, Mister Seraphim! Master Holier-Than-Thou can’t even conjure up fruit.”

Anthony glowered at him. “You’re trying my patience, Aziraphale.”

“My apologies,” Aziraphale said, his expression sincere as he reached down, plucked a rotten apple core from the floor, and snapped his fingers. In an instant, it was renewed and alive, ripe and red in his hand as he turned it over in his palm. “You have the power, my dear. I’m just curious why you’re not…” he wiggled his fingers vaguely. “_Utilizing _it.”

“I…” Anthony took a breath, shaking a bit as he tried to bring life back to the apple core next to him. It glimmered for a moment, a brief flicker of reanimation… only for his Grace to flicker and fizzle out in a rather spectacular show of Giving Up. Anthony sighed as sweat popped up along his brow. “I’m… Lord Almighty, I’m _tired.”_

“Careful,” Aziraphale tutted. “Taking Her name in vain.”

“Bollocks to that,” Anthony snapped tiredly. His hand was shaking as he gestured to himself. “I’m… I’m _exhausted_, Aziraphale. I have to perform a miracle to keep them asleep. Have to perform a miracle to keep Shem and Noah away. Have to perform a miracle to keep the bloody food _fresh_. Have to perform a miracle to keep the baby from wailing the night away!”

“That _does _sound tiring.”

“Help me?” Anthony almost begged, his voice raw and pained as he looked to Aziraphale. “You’re the only one who knows I’m here. Please.”

Aziraphale blinked, still turning the apple over and over in his hand. “None of your little… angel friends… know you’re here? With the children?”

Anthony hesitated. “No.”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows raised comically as his lips stretched in a melodramatic ‘oh’ of surprise. “You haven’t told them.”

Looking away, Anthony shook his head. “No.”

As if he needed to think about this for a moment, Aziraphale stood and walked around their little corner of the ark quietly. His wings lifted slightly, flexing and stretching so they didn’t brush the sleeping children beneath them as he walked. After a solid minute, Aziraphale turned to give Anthony a strange look. “Why ask me, angel? Wouldn’t it be better to ask your angels-in-arms?”

Anthony gave him an unamused look. “You may be the adversary, but you _encouraged me_ to save these children from the flood.”

“Ah-ah!” Aziraphale said with a shake of his head. “I encouraged you to save them from _me_. There’s a big difference.”

Anthony waved that away. “It’s more than the others have done.” There was a pause where they simply looked at one another, and Anthony, going out on a limb, said: “I trust you.”

There was a significant quiet that settled over them. Aziraphale looked a little pale, like he’d been on the boat for a touch too long, and the apple in his hand was gripped so tight, Anthony was sure it was going to be crushed. But it wasn’t. Aziraphale simply stepped forward, pushed the apple into the open palm of a sleeping child, and turned away. He made for the stairs. He was _leaving_. Anthony felt his heart fall at the sight.

“Wait— _oi!_ You can’t just leave!”

With one foot already on the bottom step, Aziraphale gave him a look that struck oddly on his face through the darkness. The shadows cast on him made him look like death. The fold of his wings made him look oddly small. The furrow of his brow made him look stricken with grief. And among it all… he smiled.

“I’m going to go plant an olive tree, angel,” he said softly, his voice echoing oddly in the chamber. Anthony sat back, a little shaken as Aziraphale said, “Don’t fret. I’m bringing your little voyage to an end.”

It wasn’t long after Aziraphale left that Anthony settled back into sleep. Maybe it was a latent sense of exhaustion. Maybe he was just trying to stave off the pain of the children slowly starving to death in the middle of an Almighty flood. Either way, he was quiet and complacent for an unknown amount of time. Children clung to five of his six wings (one of them was folded under himself and pinned uncomfortably) and he struggled to cradle all of them.

Then, without warning, the boat shuddered and rocked… and struck land. Anthony’s eyes wrenched open. The children were up and scrambling along the floor, shouting and running, shouting and running… he pulled himself up and darted for the stairs.

“Stay here!” He shouted to them. They weren’t listening. They were all cheering, laughing and racing to follow him. He waved them away, his legs shaking and wobbly as he tried to climb the stairs. “Stay _here_!”

When he reached the bow of the ship, he blinked and tilted his head back. The sun glared down on him. It was hot, baking and burning at his skin as he smiled listlessly.

“Aha!” Aziraphale said where he leaned against the bow leisurely. Anthony looked at him, more besotted than alarmed by his presence. Aziraphale smiled down at the expanses of wet, red sand beyond the ark. “Lovely, isn’t it? The wonders a little olive branch can do.”

“You planted the tree,” Anthony said, soft and affectionate as Aziraphale studiously avoided his gaze. His blond, blonde hair shone bone-white in the sun. His eyes crinkled as he stared out at the desert. Anthony crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back with a smile. “You went and planted an olive tree… so Noah would know the flood was over.”

“I did no such thing,” Aziraphale promised crossly. He adjusted his black robes, tugging at the fabric until it sat pleasantly on his shoulders. “I was just peckish.”

“Peckish,” Anthony repeated incredulously.

Aziraphale hummed. “I wanted some olives.”

“So you just _happened_ to plant an olive tree. And a dove just _happened_ to bring an olive branch to Noah. And now we just _happen_ to be set on solid land.”

“Ah! What a coincidence!” Aziraphale said with a dramatic flourish of his hand. “Now you don’t have to hide in the confines of the ark. Be free, darling. No more shady miracles.”

Anthony didn’t have the energy to say anything about the ‘shadiness’ of his miracles. He just glanced up at the sky, basking in the warmth of the sun. Below them, the enormous door of the ark lowered, letting the animals free (and, among them, the children that Anthony had stowed away). It was chaos below them, like the creation of the universe. Stars and colors and sounds and nonsense… but it was blissful. Like finally taking a deep breath after suffocating for a long, long time.

Without thought, Anthony pulled himself up and onto the bow, wobbling a bit when he nearly lost his footing. Next to him, Aziraphale baulked and tried to grab at him.

“Wha—angel. Darling, careful, you’ll fall from this height. Angel. Angel--! Raph—Anthony!”

Anthony didn’t wait. He leapt over the edge, sailing through the air until he let his wings catch on the updraft and yank him, almost painfully, back up into the air. He felt _free_. After over a month of being cooped up and stifled and held to the floor of the ark, he was _out_ in the fresh air and _flying_ again. It was blissful. It was _euphoric. _Using his wings the way his Lord had intended them. Using his corporeal form to feel the wind and the heat of the sun… and, ultimately, the bite of the sand when he landed, hard and scraping, in the dirt.

He didn’t stop there. He laughed at the feeling of the shifting sand under him. His wings trembled at the feel of the grains at the roots. He rolled and kicked and laughed. His wings spasmed and flicked sand in all directions. It was _incredible_. And _messy_. And perfect, of course. He rolled until his arms and legs trembled with strain. He laughed until he couldn’t breathe. He was shivering when he collapsed against the solid earth, finally at peace.

Instead of pushing himself up and away from the sand, he simply pivoted and leaned back on his elbows, staring up at the sky in reverent wonder. It was blue and endless… a few clouds lingered, but even then, they were soft. A gentle kind of gray. The kind of gray that highlighted the gift that the Almighty had left for them.

A long arc of prismatic colors. Light bending and warping around the rain that was gone, far on the horizon. Anthony stared up, his lips parted around silent benediction as his golden eyes glinted and blinked slowly. He stayed there for a long while, admiring this new thing, this… ‘rainbow.’

Aziraphale trudged through the sand, eventually coming to sit next to him in the mud that was quickly drying in the warmth of the afternoon sun. Beyond them, Noah and his descendants praised God for saving them. Aziraphale tucked up his legs and dug his heels into the sand tiredly.

“Beautiful,” Anthony said softly. Aziraphale hummed curiously, glancing at him from Anthony’s periphery. There was something in his expression, but Anthony couldn’t look away from the rainbow. It was so much _color_. Like when he’d helped put the stars in their place, moving around light and stardust as he wished until it made a design he enjoyed. “I like this. The rainbow.”

“Hmm… let’s hope that we don’t have to slog through another ‘Almighty flood’ to see it again.”

Anthony nudged Aziraphale with his arm irritably. Aziraphale only chuckled in response. Laying back in the damp sand, Anthony took a deep breath through his nose. It smelled like sea water and fish and dirt. There was also fresh air and rain and the salt of sweat on his skin; the unmistakable smell of _Aziraphale_ was there, too. His cloves and earth and smoke. Anthony sighed and closed his eyes. Aziraphale made a disapproving noise.

“Oh, my dearest… you can’t sleep in the mud.”

“Sand.”

“Be that as it may, it’s _wet_. And _dirty_. And your robes are completely filthy!” Even so, Anthony sighed happily, flinching a little as something cast a shadow over his face. When he squinted opened one eye, and then the other, he saw Aziraphale’s black wing shielding him from the light. Aziraphale smiled at his perplexed expression. “You can’t honestly intend to sleep _here_ of all places. Miracle yourself a woven mat, at the very least.”

Anthony closed his eyes with a lazy smile. “I’m tired.”

“I see that, love.”

“Do you call all angels that?” Anthony asked quietly, peeking open one eye to see Aziraphale glanced away and stare pointedly out at the desert. “Dear and darling and love… is it just me?”

“Well,” Aziraphale said with a breathy chuckle. “I don’t see many other angels here, do you?”

“If there were, would you call them those things?”

Aziraphale rolled his shoulders back in a languid display of calmness. “So many _questions_.”

Rolling a bit, Anthony stretched and wriggled his wings until they could lay comfortably in the dirt. There was still sand in his feathers. It coated his skin. It felt gritty and earthy and real. He liked it. He liked the way the ground didn’t rock with waved under him. He liked how the world was still and warm under him. Dragging himself over a bit, Anthony put a heavy hand on Aziraphale’s thigh and flattened his leg against the ground.

“Hmm? What’s this, angel?”

“Don’t want sand in my ear,” Anthony said simply as he placed his head atop Aziraphale’s thigh. The demon didn’t pull away or push him off, so Anthony settled in and sighed happily. His scent was stronger, here. He turned his nose against Aziraphale hip and inhaled deep. “You smell like something.”

“I smell like _me_.”

Anthony hummed. “Smells like earth.”

“Smells like _hell_, dearest.” Anthony frowned… and said no more. He simply turned his face into the dip of Aziraphale’s pelvis and inhaled again. Cloves, smoke, and sweat. It was different than the smell of Heaven. Different from the smudge of ozone and the flicker of nothing but faint, lingering dust. It was _more_. Something human (and, despite Aziraphale’s protest, something _earthy_). He inhaled again, his hand fisting in the fabric of Aziraphale’s robes. Aziraphale chuckled. “Careful. You’re getting a tad intimate.”

“Only intimate if you made an Effort,” Anthony blinked, sat up, and gave Aziraphale a scandalized, giddy smile. “Have you?”

Aziraphale quirked an eyebrow but smiled back nonetheless. “Have I…?”

Anthony gestured to Aziraphale’s crotch with a meaningful nod of his head. “Have you made an… _effort_?”

Laughing a little bit, Aziraphale gave him a long, considering look. “Would it bother you if I say that I have?”

Anthony didn’t move where he had his chin perched on Aziraphale’s thigh. After a long, meaningful look, he turned away, pushed the crown of his head against Aziraphale’s hip, and sighed, “No.”

“Have you, dear?”

“Made an Effort? Nah.” He blinked, glancing up at Aziraphale black wing, and then closed his eyes. “Thought about it, though… curious. Not sure what I want.”

Aziraphale nodded thoughtfully. “Understandable. You have options.”

“Two options.”

“Three, I think!” Aziraphale said with a fond chuckle. “You can decide to stay angelic. Ethereal. Without the threads of human sex or gender.”

Anthony sighed, his body heavy and wings shivery with sand. He relaxed, feeling Aziraphale push a hand through his hair. Sand was dusted away, bushed back with soft, gentle hands as Aziraphale doted on him. It was an odd, affectionate gesture for a demon to perform. Should Anthony be upset? Discomforted? He _should _have been. But he was an angel… trusting. Maybe a little stupid. But Aziraphale was kind, warm, and very, very soft.

Something about this feeling was familiar. Like lying down in a worn bed after a long, tiring day. Like stepping into the arms of a long-lost lover, curling close and melting into them. The smell, the feeling, the warmth… it was like a dream. A dream that was smoky and slipping through his fingers when he tried to grab at it.

Anthony could chalk it up to instinct that led him to believe that Aziraphale was trustworthy. Something that said ‘well, he was an angel once’ and made him lean in and think it was safe to lay down and stay a while. He could also say that it was sheer temptation. It oozed from Aziraphale in droves; something that said it was alright to slow down and be lazy. Something that said it was okay to be a little prideful, angry, and stubborn… it was Aziraphale, and it was strange. Different from the distant, detached angels that call him ‘brother’ or ‘sister.’ Different from the lingering stares and cool words of Gabriel. Different… but in a good way. Anthony sighed contentedly.

“Pleased with yourself, darling?”

“Pleased enough, suppose,” Anthony glanced out at the children he’d saved. They ducked and weaved through the animals that had been let loose. They laughed and played with Noah’s children and grandchildren. No one fought. No one accused them of stowing away. It was just viewed as another Holy miracle. Anthony smiled. “They’re alive.”

“Alive as they can be,” Aziraphale said softly, his hand combing through Anthony’s red, red hair. “What a miracle.”

Anthony laughed, craning his neck to give Aziraphale a wide smile. And Aziraphale smiled right back, his blue eyes soft and kind. Anthony took a breath and felt… _love_. Pure, unfiltered love coming from this demon. If he wasn’t already smitten, he might be surprised. He’d felt love before; from humans, in fluttery, anxious waves. In angels in their cool, sterile regard. And even from his Mother, the Almighty, in her warm, Heavenly light. But this… this was something more. He felt dizzy with adoration. Tingly with lingering affection. Emotion welled within him and he wasn’t sure what to _do _with it… so, he smiled. He smiled, and Aziraphale _loved_ him.

“Yeah,” he breathed, reaching up to brush his knuckles against the curve of Aziraphale’s jaw. Soft, soft skin and a warm smile waited for him. Anthony sighed. “What a miracle.”

+++++

The next time they met was in a grand city in Babylonia. It had ben some time since Noah had landed on solid ground with the ark. Many years since Anthony fell asleep in Aziraphale’s lap, contented and delirious with love. Decades since he’d even _seen _Aziraphale… and maybe even a century of irritable loneliness that came with that realization.

But Anthony made do. He performed blessings on a daily basis, spending his time doing whatever he pleased and going wherever he wanted to go. This is to say that he did _not _go back to Heaven on a whim. He was a busy angel.*

*This is a quaint way of saying he didn’t want to see Gabriel frowning at him and telling him he was wasting his talents on earth.

Yes, Anthony was a Seraphim. Yes, he could have one of the highest offices in Heaven. And yes, he could technically have any number of other angels go down to Earth _for _him and perform these blessings and healings… but there was something that just felt _right_ about performing the miracles on his own. The sheer joy and excitement in a child’s eyes when he fixed a broken toy with a wave of his hand. The relief in an old man’s eyes when his mysterious cough faded away. Even the breathless elation that came from two people just… _falling _in love by accident (or my miracle). It was almost physical, the emotion that lingered around him. Making him feel more than a little gratified where he stood at the foot of a large tower.

They (the humans) were building something new. Something that was borderline blasphemous. They wanted to build a tower to reach the Heavens? They were in the wrong place. The wrong time. Really, the wrong plane of existence. They were building upwards in a hope that they would reach the angels (and God Herself) but really, it was like they were right next-door, scraping at the roof instead of simply knocking on the door.

Anthony didn’t have to turn to feel the crackle in the air. He didn’t have to breathe deep and smell the crisp ozone that flickered through oxygen. But he _did _flinch when a bolt of lightning came from a clear sky. He pointedly stared up at the tower when Gabriel came to stand next to him.

“They’ve gotten past the clouds,” Gabriel said authoritatively, as if this _meant _something. Anthony hummed, a little impressed, but Gabriel only scowled at the tower. “It’s ridiculous. These… _humans_. I can’t imagine why She hasn’t just started over from scratch yet.”

Anthony gave him a sidelong look… then looked away. “She loves them. Why would she keep them alive if she didn’t love them?”

Gabriel stiffened and straightened his shoulders. “I don’t doubt Her will, Raphael.”

Anthony flinched. “Why do you call me that?”

“That’s a stupid question,” Gabriel snorted. “It’s your _name_.”

“I _prefer_ Anthony.” Gabriel quirked an eyebrow… but didn’t correct himself. Anthony frowned and rocked on his heels. “What do you want, Gabriel?”

“To have you come back,” he said, sounding a bit desperate. Anthony made a point not to look at him as Gabriel turned to him and held out his hands in offering. “Raphael, this… this diversion of yours, it’s… well, it’s admirable. We can see what you’re trying to do. Save humans and all that, but… be honest with yourself. You don’t _belong _here.”

“Neither do you,” Anthony said crossly, seeing the way Gabriel leaned back with an affronted expression. Trying to remain civil, Anthony brought his hair over his shoulder and combed through the knots as he spoke. “She put me in the Garden for a reason. Why would She want me on Earth if she didn’t want me to stay?”

“To give you _something_ to do!” Gabriel said, exasperated. Anthony ignored that, but Gabriel stepped forward, trying to convey urgency as he said, “Raphael –”

“Anthony.”

“_Raphael_, be reasonable. The Garden is _gone_. Your task there is _finished_. The humans are making a mess of things on their own… and the Principalities are more than enough of a blessing for them. Come back. Come _home_.”

“Why?” asked Anthony. That seemed to startle Gabriel. In all honesty, _any _question seemed to startle Gabriel. It was like he couldn’t imagine anyone questioning his authority. But he wasn’t the Almighty. He wasn’t all-powerful. Anthony knew this. Gabriel _knew _that he knew this.

“Why…? Because I ask you to.” Gabriel’s eyes glinted oddly in the light, highlighted in fragments of lilac and dangerous violets as he said, “What is it that keeps you here? Companionship? Comradery? We can offer you all that and _more _in Heaven.”

Anthony squirmed under the attention, looking back to the tower. “I don’t know.”

“You want affection?”

“I don’t _know_,” Anthony repeated.

“Is it physical assurance? Like the humans do?” Gabriel stepped forward, cupped his cheeks, and pulled Anthony into a stiff, closed-mouth kiss. Anthony didn’t move. He didn’t close his eyes. The kiss wasn’t at all what he expected. He’d seen humans kiss before… it looked soft and wet and sloppy. This was cold. Clinical. Like a reenactment of a speech with no emotion or thought. He waited until Gabriel pulled away, seeing the confused flicker in his eyes when he said, “What will it take to bring you home, Raphael?”

“Not you,” Anthony said as he brushed Gabriel’s hands away. He brushed past him, walking around Gabriel and heading for the base of the tower. “And my name is Anthony.”

“This is going against the will of God, Raphael!” He shouted crossly, his voice trembling with barely-contained arrogance. “You are disgracing Her will! Going by a different name… asking pointless questions… you are defiling the gift of your life!”

Pointedly ignoring that, Anthony started to climb the steps to the enormous tower. He saw laborers below him, pulling up stones and straw and mud alongside the tower. It went up and up… intricate pulleys and ropes going up into the clouds as Anthony walked. It took some time to reach the top (along with a few miracles to keep the humans from noticing or stopping him) but he kept walking until he reached the last step. The walls weren’t finished. There was lattice woodwork that marked the next level of the tower to be built. And leaning against that woodwork was a very familiar demon.

Aziraphale’s hands were clasped in front of himself politely as he turned to give Anthony a fond look. “Angel! What a pleasant surprise.”

Anthony quirked an eyebrow. “Liar. This wasn’t a surprise. You _knew _I was going to be here.”

“Perish the thought, dearest.”

He looked out the gaps between the wooden webbing of the tower, eyeing the glint of sunlight on the sea of clouds below them. He looked like he was hiding something. Anthony could feel the discomfort of crushed and repressed emotion… quiet, angry feelings that were bitter where they sat beneath the surface. Climbing the last step onto the platform where Aziraphale stood waiting for him, Anthony sidled close until his shoulder brushed against Aziraphale’s.

“If you’re upset,” Anthony said thoughtfully as he watched the clouds. “Why keep quiet?”

Aziraphale wiggled his shoulders and smiled. “I’m polite.”

Anthony snorted. “You’re a demon.”

“Those thoughts aren’t mutually exclusive.”

Turning toward him, Anthony ducked his head a little bit to force his face into Aziraphale’s line of sight. He was met with a rather amused chuckle as Aziraphale refused to lean back. Their noses brushed. It was warm. Aziraphale smiled, and Anthony raised his eyebrows expectantly. “What’s got your tunic in a twist, ‘ziraphale?”

There was a minute of silence between the two of them. Aziraphale’s smile seemed to crack where he stood nose-to-nose with Anthony. They breathed in tandem. The tower creaked and moaned ominously. The sun was starting to set. Then, without thought, Aziraphale rubbed the tips of their noses together softly. Anthony’s lips twitched with a smile; it was almost _ticklish_. Affectionate and gentle… not forced like Gabriel’s desperate attempt at fondness. He liked this.

Aziraphale could tell, and he smiled when he murmured, “I saw you with the Archangel,” he paused, glanced down at Anthony’s lips, and then banished his eyes back to Anthony’s with that ever-present smile. “Looked a bit uncomfortable.”

Neither of them moved apart. Anthony tilted his head a bit, his nose sliding along Aziraphale’s as he thought for a moment. “You were watching.”

“You’re _captivating_. Of course I watched. Couldn’t look away,” Aziraphale said as an excuse. His breath was moist and warm against Anthony’s mouth. After a second of thought, Aziraphale licked his lips and shrugged a bit. “I wanted to see all the fuss about this tower… and there you were. Standing with Gabriel.”

The tip of his nose pushed into Aziraphale’s cheek and he was nearly going cross-eyed in his attempt to keep their gazes locked. “You don’t like him?”

“You’re being silly,” Aziraphale murmured as his eyes fluttered shut. He didn’t move away though. He stayed close, letting their foreheads pressed together and their breath mingled. “Of course I don’t like him. He’s an angel.”

“I’m an angel.”

Aziraphale didn’t open his eyes. His smile wobbled a bit. “You’re _you_, darling. That’s all that needs to be said.” Taking a sharp breath, Anthony pressed his lips to Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale didn’t push or pull. He didn’t even breathe. His lips were plush. Wet with spit. When Anthony pulled away, he was met with a mildly-intrigued expression. “And what was that for?”

“I was curious.”

“About what?” Aziraphale laughed a little, his breath rushing against Anthony’s face. “Gabriel already smashed his face against yours.”

Anthony made a face and leaned back as he looked down his nose at Aziraphale. “Weird way to describe a kiss.”

“Ah? Aha!” Aziraphale shook his head with a laugh as he stepped away, walking along the platform with a bounce in his step. “A kiss? No, no, darling. What Gabriel did to you was not what the humans call a ‘kiss.’ That was more of a… lunge. A strange…” he wiggled his fingers. “Awkward mash of skin. He wasn’t sure _what _he was doing.”

“And _you _know what a kiss is?”

Aziraphale turned to him with a smile. “Don’t pretend to be daft, Anthony. You’re too clever for that.”

Cocking his head to the side, Anthony pursed his lips… then smiled. “What do you think of it?”

Gesturing to their surroundings, Aziraphale squinted curiously and murmured, “The tower…?”

“Kissing,” Anthony pressed, his eyes sharp as Aziraphale watched him. “Think it’s all the humans have cracked it up to be?”

“Oh, no doubt of it,” Aziraphale said with a languid smile. “It’s delightfully intimate, wouldn’t you say? They way they express affection. They service one another… they touch, speak in odd rhymes… it’s all very dramatic.” He stopped, chuckled a little and repeated, “Affection…” his eyes slid to the side as he said, “I’d suppose angels are still too distant from each other to grasp the concept.”

Anthony fidgeted at that, turning to look over the edge of the tower and down, down, down toward the ground. His stomach did a strange flop or anxiety, and he leaned away from the edge. “Gabriel wants me to go back,” he said after a moment. Aziraphale didn’t respond. So he said again, a little louder, “Gabriel wants me to go back to Heaven.”

“I heard you the first time, darling.”

Turning on his heel, Anthony gave Aziraphale a hard look. He was met with something that almost hurt: _indifference_. It was a lie, of course. Anthony could feel the startled, fragile love that was radiating from Aziraphale. He could tell that he was, in this moment, very much loved and appreciated. And Aziraphale was scared that he might leave… but even so, he said nothing. He didn’t demand an explanation or reassurance. He didn’t even say a word in his defense. He simply stood there, staring at Anthony, like the conversation would play itself out without him having to open his mouth.

“Maybe I _should_ go back,” Anthony said after a minute of waiting. Aziraphale blinked, and his emotion turned near-violent with panic. Even so, his expression was the same. Blank with vague disinterest. He looked like a broken mechanism. A spring that no longer sprung. A wheel that couldn’t turn. He stood, his hands clasped together in front of himself, and Anthony shrugged. “Not much keeping me here.”

“I’d suppose not,” Aziraphale said softly, his voice a little hollow as he approached the edge of the tower, leaned over, and stared down at the clouds. “You are a Seraphim, after all. Plenty of things for you to do Up There.”

“Sitting beside Her throne isn’t exactly a difficult job.”

“Ah, but it sounds like a lovely perk,” Aziraphale said with a lazy smile and a nod. “Relaxing, I’d imagine.”

Watching Aziraphale, Anthony stepped forward to push his nose into the demon’s platinum-blond curls. Aziraphale went stiff under the attention, his breath catching as Anthony stood close behind him and pressed himself against his back. With his voice barely more than a whisper, Anthony dipped his head and let his forehead rest on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Do you care if I leave?”

There was a significant pause before Aziraphale murmured, “An interesting question.”

“I’d like an answer.”

“Anthony—” he started, only to stop himself. He bit the rest of his words off, looking for all intents like a broken being where he stood, unsure of his own words. After a few long seconds that stretched into years, Aziraphale sighed. “I’d care. I’d care very much.”

“Why?”

Aziraphale laughed, but there wasn’t humor in the sound. “You’re going to get me in trouble.” Before Anthony could ask any thing else, there was a commotion behind them. Shouting, it sounded like. But nothing like Anthony had heard before. Garbled and strange… then another, very confused voice answered. The back and forth continued until more voices joined. It was just a collection of confused, nonsensical shouting. Aziraphale pursed his lips and glanced at stairs. “Curious,” he said, though he made no move to investigate.

Rolling his eyes, Anthony grabbed Aziraphale’s wrist and tugged him down a few steps… only to stop when he heard something he’d never heard before. A new language. He understood it, of course… but it was strange. Humans had only used one language for so long… where had a new one come from?

“They’re just saying ‘what’ over and over,” Aziraphale said softly, a breathy laugh on his lips as he glanced down at the frazzled, confused workers. “They can’t understand each other.”

“Why?” Anthony asked, watching as a baffled architect started to speak something that rolled off his tongue like wine.* After a moment of bickering with his foreman (who couldn’t understand him), the architect dropped his papyrus and wandered down the stairs, thoroughly confused and exasperated. Anthony watched him go with a pinched expression. “Where is he going?”

*This language would someday be called Italian.

“Well,” Aziraphale said with a huff. “Can’t exactly build a tower when no one can understand one another, can you?”

Anthony blinked and watched as the foreman dropped his own materials and started to scramble for the stairs. He looked frantic. He had a family somewhere in the city, and they were probably just as confused as he was, screaming in tongues and having no way of understanding one another. Without thought, Anthony followed him, gliding down the steps of the tower with Aziraphale following along behind him.

“Did you do this?” Anthony asked, his lips turned up in a smile as two men screamed _‘What?_’ at each other at the top of their lungs. They did this several more times until they resorted to a fist-fight in the middle of the stairway. Anthony and Aziraphale narrowly managed to skirt past them with a bit of laughing as Anthony pulled him further down the winding stairs. “Honestly, Aziraphale _did you do this_?”

“Make them all speak in tongues?” Aziraphale asked, mortified. “No! Really, dearest, I’m flattered you think I have that kind of power, but _really_… how on earth would I accomplish this?”

“Probably the Almighty,” Anthony said as he dragged Aziraphale along. Somewhere past the clouds, Aziraphale twisted his wrist and laced their fingers together, holding them together tightly as they dodged the screaming, baffled humans on their way.

“Moving in mysterious ways,” Aziraphale said numbly.

“Bet she heard the humans were trying to reach Heaven with the tower…” he kept going, tugging Aziraphale close when a man screaming in a new language (this one would be German) past them down the stairs at full speed. Anthony and Aziraphale looked at each other for a moment before they continued their trek. “Think she’ll set them right in the end?”

“Oh, I doubt it,” Aziraphale chuckled. “This is punishment if I ever saw it.”

Anthony glanced back at him. “Seems… mild. For an Almighty punishment.”

“I heard a rumor,” Aziraphale said at the same time a different worker screamed loudly. With a disgruntled expression, Aziraphale repeated, _“I_ _heard a rumor!”_

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmm… the humans thought that if they reached Heaven, they wouldn’t _need _God.”

“That’s—” someone screamed, and Anthony frowned. “That sounds—” another scream. “For Heaven’s sake… this is—”

Aziraphale snapped his fingers at they were standing at the base of the tower, looking up at the people that were scrambling and screaming and pushing and fighting. Most of them simply screamed ‘_I can’t understand you!’ _in their respective languages, whatever they may be. Aziraphale watched them with a bemused expression, pointing out a man who tripped over his own son. They shouted at each other in different languages, both raising their voices to the point of hysterics until they simply turned away from one another and went to shout at other people.

With his hand in Aziraphale’s, Anthony glanced up at the sky, barely managing to suppress a smile as a woman shouted at her husband for _daring_ to speak another language. Really, it wouldn’t last forever. They would learn to understand one another… it would just take time. And patience. Two things that humans were notoriously bad at managing. So, biting down on the corners of his smile, Anthony watched the people babble endlessly. Anthony chuckled to himself; a Tower of Babbling. Silly name for such a dramatic turn of events. It probably wouldn’t catch on.

“Madness,” said Aziraphale suddenly. Anthony blinked and looked at him.

“What?”

“What this is,” he said, gesturing to the tower vaguely. People ran and screamed and shouted without understanding, looking more like chickens running around with their heads cut off. Aziraphale looked a little bored as he said, “The word you were looking for. This is madness.”

Anthony snorted and shook his head. “Honestly… not sure _what _all this is. Madness might be too strong a word.”

“Too organized?”

“Too violent, more like.” Anthony cocked his head to the side and watched crowds of people shout at each other for a long while before they collectively turned away and gave up. “Can’t think of a better word, though. Nonsense?”

“Ridiculous,” Aziraphale offered. Thought for a moment, then said, “Ludicrous.”

“_Ludicrous_,” Anthony repeated with a sage nod. “That’s the word.”

For a few minutes, they watched the crowds dissipate. The tower was abandoned, the streets were running clear of people, and dust was kicked up in their wake as they ran, babbling, from their prized city. It was almost lonely to see them go… but more comical than anything. The hubris of mankind was _always_ their downfall, wasn’t it? It happened with the ark, too. Anthony had little doubt that it would happen again.

And, when it did, he would be right there next to Aziraphale. He would stand with him, shoulder-to-shoulder, chuckling at these humans that he loved so very, very much. They would plot ways to spare them the pain. Avoid the heartache, and repair what could be fixed. It could be like this for the next several centuries… all Anthony had to do was _stay_.

“So,” Aziraphale said after a long, comfortable silence had settled in the air between them. They looked up at the tower, watching the way it disappeared into the sky above them. Aziraphale sighed, and Anthony echoed the sound. “So,” he repeated. Anthony nodded and released his hand.

“So?”

“I suppose,” Aziraphale said as he turned to look at Anthony properly. His eyes shone odd in the light. No pupils made him look ghostly. He blindness, but worse… but he wasn’t blind. Anthony knew better. Aziraphale saw right into the heart of him, down to his gold, flickering soul. And he smiled sadly. “Shall I say my goodbyes now, or…?”

“Goodbyes?”

Pointing a finger up toward the sky, Aziraphale arched a single, curious eyebrow. “You _are _going back, aren’t you?” Anthony made a face, and Aziraphale laughed at his expense. “After all that fuss with Gabriel, I’d be lying if I said I was surprised to see you go.”

“Gabriel is getting on my nerves,” Anthony said decisively. He started to walk the empty streets, and Aziraphale followed him, quiet and patient as Anthony said, “All of them are. Telling me to come back, saying I’m wasting my time…”

“You _are_,” Aziraphale said thoughtfully. “Really, you could be _relaxing_ as we speak! You could be lounging or…” he paused, made a face, and glanced up at the sky strangely. “What _is it_ they do up there, all day? I can’t for the life of me… recall…”

“Paperwork,” Anthony grumbled as he reached out a hand to trace along the side of a house as they walked. “They want me to come back and oversee the Principalities and Thrones…” he sighed and stopped walking. Aziraphale stopped with him, giving him a sympathetic look as he leaned against a building tiredly. “They don’t _need_ me up there. But they just… want me.”

“I understand the feeling,” Aziraphale said. Anthony looked at him, and Aziraphale smiled. “I want you, too.”

“Shut up.”

“It’s true! You are a walking temptation, my dear.”

Anthony flinched at that, flattening himself to the surface of the house while Aziraphale stared at him. “A temptation to what?”

“A temptation for good,” Aziraphale said softly, his eyes going a little sad where he stood in the silent city. He looked lost, all of a sudden. Like he’d taken a wrong turn and ended up in this story with no recollection of how he’d gotten there. “You…” he paused, laughed, and said, “You make me forget!”

Anthony’s voice was soft as he echoed, “Forget?”

“What I am. Isn’t that marvelous?” He asked, genuinely hopeful as his blue eyes locked with Anthony’s. “To forget that I’m a demon. To think myself… nothing. Not angel, not human. Just. Just _nothing_. Just for a moment.”

“Is that why you want me?” Anthony asked gently. “To be free of your tasks? To just…” he waved his hand vaguely. “Have the satisfaction of _being_ for a while? Is that all I’m good for?”

Aziraphale looked at him, and after a moment, he softened. His smile was kind, and his voice was gentle when he said, “You are the light of this earth, my love. So very important to Heaven and humanity… you’re good for so, so _much, _darling, I cannot begin to scratch the surface of your infinite qualities.”

Anthony didn’t move where he was pressing himself to stone. “So, what are you saying?”

“That you are a gift, my dear. And you should be free to do whatever you like with yourself, regardless of Gabriel’s prodding.”

Narrowing his eyes, Anthony felt his lips twitch with the promise of a smile. “So I should do whatever I like?”

“Of course.”

“Even if it means never seeing you again?”

Aziraphale cocked his head to the side with a coy smile. “Would that make you happy, angel?”

Opening his mouth to say ‘yes,’ Anthony felt something still his tongue. Maybe it was something in the way Aziraphale watched him. Maybe it was the quiet of the city settling over him. Maybe he just couldn’t bring himself to lie. Regardless of the reason, he hesitated… and closed his mouth. Emotion swelled in Aziraphale and Anthony felt every ounce of it. There was fear, there… a fair bit of pain. And love. Pure, unaltered love.

It was strange to think he was the object of such emotion and affection… odd to know that he was worthy of something so strong. Was it real? Or was it for the fact that he simply indulged Aziraphale? Maybe there was something more to this. Maybe he was being humored… or there was a big, comical punchline waiting for him. The love felt good… like cold, clean water on his skin after a hot day. A fresh piece of fruit when he was hungry, or a soft bed when he was tired. Aziraphale loved him, and he… well, he certainly didn’t _dislike_ Aziraphale.

He was an angel. A being of love. Of course he loved Aziraphale. But were angels allowed to feel this newer, intense kind of love? It seemed too passionate. Too physical. Like something Anthony could pick up and hold to the light, watching the colors glint and bounce. It was like seeing Adam and Eve in the Garden again, their love being more ‘rough and tumbling’ than anything Anthony had seen before. He liked it. He had _wanted_ it. And now there it was, staring at him with a pair of calm, blue eyes.

And to never see that again? To never have Aziraphale look at him like he was the sun, too bright, too hot, too much at once? It seemed like a waste. To have all that love just waiting for him and never giving it a chance to explain itself. He had _questions_. And Aziraphale always seemed ready to answer him. And maybe, when he was able, he could catch up and understand if the feelings rattling around in his chest were, in fact, affection. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was anxiety. He wasn’t sure.

Taking a breath, Anthony murmured, “I’d be happy to see you again.”

“You will,” Aziraphale promised with a soft smile. “You will.”

As if he was immune to Anthony’s inner-turmoil, Aziraphale turned on his heel and started to walk again. It left Anthony standing alone, watching him go with a slightly mystified smile on his face. There were so many emotions to feel and only so much time to process them all… _You will_, he had said. So easy. Like a vow that was added to an already swaying pile of promises.

Anthony turned his head to watch Aziraphale go. He walked calmly, like a demon moving with leisure. He had nowhere to be. Nothing to do. Human civilization had scattered for lack of understanding themselves… and that made Aziraphale’s job very, very easy. All he had to do was take responsibility for the confusion. And if, while humanity was getting its bearings again, he and Aziraphale just _happened_ to spend time together… where wasn’t much harm in that.

No one from their respective offices had to know. They could just live their lives, watching humanity build and destroy, live and die, laugh and lose… it was poetic. Asymmetrical in the best way. And they could do it together, watching it all weave the tapestry of history. Anthony smiled… and let his wings appear on the corporeal plane. They stretched and shivered; it was nice to stretch them after being cooped up with humans for so long. Now, with the city empty, he was free to be himself.

And, with all six wings shining in the light of a warm, setting sun, he trotted to catch up with Aziraphale. The demon turned, smiled at him, and upon seeing his wings, let his own manifest as well. They shone black and sleek in the light… and Anthony reached out to stroke the feathers as they walked. They said nothing. There wasn’t anything that _needed _to be said. So they walked.

Out of one garden and onto the next.


	2. Greece, Alexandria, and the Crucifixion

The year was 372 BCE. Not that Anthony or any other human knew it was BC. It was a blissful, relaxed time. A time where Anthony could lounge and do whatever it was he wanted to pass the time. And most times, when he was alone*, he would find himself a little fatigued. It wasn’t that sleeping had become a habit for Anthony, it was simply a comfortable pastime. It wasn’t done often, and he wasn’t sure when the inclination would strike him, but when it did, he found the best places to nap were often in Greece. Most specifically, Athens.

*Without Aziraphale or any of the archangels knocking down his door.

There was a lovely lack of rules when it came to clothing back then, what with sex and debauchery being just as commonplace as wine and dancing. Humans were blasphemous there in Greece, worshiping other gods (than the Almighty that Anthony knew any loved), but Anthony didn’t mind it. He didn’t bring down divine punishment. It all stemmed from Good Intentions, and he could respect that.

Instead, he laid on their luxurious cushions and blankets and listened to them wax poetic about Athena or Apollo. He slept in the company of men and women, indulging in love and liquor and laughter. He _enjoyed_ Athens to the fullest extent, listening to them question and philosophize until they were blue in the face.

He met Socrates, talked in him circles, and when Socrates delved too deep, Anthony would wander off and take a nap. He met Pericles, a father of an up and coming kind of democracy. He lounged in his home during one of the many parties thrown by his partner, Aspasia. He slept through many them. Playwrights and philosophers tended to turn bitter when the wine was sweet. Their debates weren’t nearly as interesting to hear when someone started to swing a fist. But neither Pericles nor Aspasia minded. They welcomed the warm, angelic aura that followed Anthony wherever he went.

It was probably what kept him safe during all of his impromptu napping and lounging through Ancient Greece. When he exuded love and peace, it was hard to sit there and scold him. So people would leave him be, letting Anthony sprawl out in the middle of the day, most of the time free of clothing, and sleep away a hot, Greek summer.

This is a longwinded way of saying that _humans_ didn’t mind Anthony’s lounging. Angels, however, found it extremely irritating. And they told him so constantly.

So Anthony wasn’t surprised when one of his spontaneous naps was interrupted by a rough tapping on his head. He cracked open an eye, then both, and looked up to see Michael frowning down at him. Honestly, she looked lovely in her golden robes and knotted-back hair. If not for the grimace marring her face, she might almost seem personable. Anthony closed his eyes again.

“Michael,” he said, almost like a passive ‘goodbye.’ She wasn’t having it.

“_Raphael_,” she pressed, trying to take his arm and pull him up from the floor. He was rather comfortably situated among the giggling, smiling hetaerae and had no intention of moving. Michael, however, was as bull-headed as ever. She gave another tug. “Raphael, hasn’t this gone on long enough? Honestly, you’re not…” she frowned, looked down at his naked body, and dropped his arm. “You’re not even _doing _anything.”

“Am so,” Anthony said as he sat up. A hetaera handed him a beige chiton and he made quick work pulling it over his head. A few girls sighed sadly when he was covered, and more than a few men passing by frowned in disapproval, but Anthony didn’t mind them as he pulled his long hair over his shoulder and started to braid. Michael watched, unimpressed, as he said, “I’ve been blessing Pericles.”

Michael’s frown turned deep-set. “_Just _Pericles? What good is that doing anyone?”

“It’s not just Pericles. I perform minor miracles, too. But…” Shrugging, Anthony took a ribbon from one of the pillows and tied-off the braid. “It keeps him _alive_.”

“But is it written?” She asked, her eyes looking a little desperate as she searched his face. Anthony squirmed under the scrutiny, and Michael sighed, waving him away from the lounging hetaerae and out onto the streets. They walked for a bit, Michael tall and proud while Anthony’s pace was lax and easygoing. She looked at him. “You know there are Principalities at work here.”

“I know.”

“And you know they’re doing their assigned duties,” she said, “On their own.”

Anthony frowned and ruffled the hair of a child that wandered past them. The child looked up at him, spellbound, and grinned. Anthony’s chest ached as he smiled back and said, “I know.”

“Can you just,” Michael stopped, chewed her words, and looked at Anthony hard. “Raphael, can you tell me _why_ you want to stay here? Have we driven you away?”

“No,” Anthony said softly. “And I prefer Anthony.”

Michael looked at him but didn’t press the matter. Instead, she reached out to touch his wrist, slender fingers sliding along sun-warm skin as she said, “You could come back,” she said, her tone almost pleading. “Be with us again. There’s nothing stopping you.”

Anthony found it difficult, but he looked away. “I like it down here.”

“Anything they offer you, we can offer, too.” Michael turned him forcefully, but there was love in the gesture as she cupped his cheeks and forced their eyes to meet. “You want to sleep? Sleep on my wings, brother. You’ll find more comfort there than on the streets.”

He laughed. “You wouldn’t like that. You hate sitting still.”

Michael pursed her lips thoughtfully. “That _is _true.”

Taking her hands, Anthony kissed her palms and smiled. “Go back to Heaven, Michael. I’m fine.”

Michael frowned a little harder. “It’s not a question of if you’re fine… it’s a question of _why_ you don’t just… just…” she looked around, squinting in the hot, summer sun before she looked back to him. “They’re just _humans_, Raphael. Sitting among them doesn’t do you any service.”

“It’s Anthony.” Gripping her hands a little tighter, Anthony took a breath, “And I think it does.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

Anthony frowned. “They ask so many _questions_, Michael. If you’d just listen—”

“From what I’ve seen, you haven’t been _listening_. You’ve been _sleeping_.”

“Michael—”

“And keeping Pericles alive, which, mind you, might go against the written Plan.” Michael arched a delicate eyebrow, the gold-leaf in her hair glittering as she tiled her head back to look at him. “Let the Principalities play human. You’re more than this. More than a simple guardian angel to some…” she waved her hand flippantly. “Mediocre politician.”

“Why is it so terrible to be with them?” Anthony asked, more bewildered than bothered. Michael blinked up at him, and Anthony took a loose step to the side as he gestured to the people on the street. “They’re Her creation. Why not take the time to get to know them?”

Michael blinked slowly, almost like she was bored as she said, “The Great Plan says—”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know what the ‘Great Plan’ says,” Anthony said, throwing air-quotes around without thought. Michael looked irritated but didn’t snap at him. No, that was Uriel’s job. Michael just like to sit and stew and judge. Anthony was tired as he said, “Six thousand years and it all goes up in flames, yeah, I get it, but…” he looked around, taking in the architecture, the colors, and the sounds. The laughter and music and _art_… it had to be worth something. “The Almighty wouldn’t let it go this long if it didn’t _mean _something, would She?”

He looked to Michael, and she was quiet. Holding her tongue, it would seem. Anthony tried again.

“I mean… She made them, didn’t She? She made them to _make _new things. To love and live, create and ask questions and _learn_. They debate, Michael! It’s the most brilliant thing,” he smiled and looked up, toward the Acropolis. “And they listen and philosophize—”

“And worship imaginary gods,” Michael said dismissively. Anthony frowned and turned back to her.

“Why can’t you see what I see?” He asked, his eyes searching hers for an answer. They were shuttered closed, not letting him see anything aside from the cold, distant expression she wore. It was almost sad. “We’re both angels, aren’t we? How are our views so different?”

Michael sighed and shook her head. “That’s a pointless question.”

“It’s not,” Anthony said. She opened her mouth to snap, but Anthony cut her off. “It’s not! Michael… we’re cut from the same cloth. Born in the stars and we saw it all birthed together and… God, we see things so _differently_. It’s fantastic, isn’t it?”

“We’re supposed to be of the same mindset,” Michael said softly, looking a little sad as he said, “We’re not _supposed _to see it differently.”

“But,” Anthony said as he stepped forward. “That’s freewill, love! Sister, look,” he took her hands, kissed her cheeks, and pressed their foreheads together. “Because I’m here… _because_ I’m here, I see things in a new light. There’s nothing wrong with that. If there were, wouldn’t I have been Fell by now?”

Michael didn’t smile. She didn’t look relieved. Instead, she looked hurt by the suggestion. “You… you can’t even Fall, Raphael. You don’t even know what you’re saying.”

“If I were wrong, Mother would have told me,” Anthony said, a surefire grin on his face. Michael looked at him, unconvinced, and he said, “Besides. You all hate when I’m up there, asking questions. You’d get sick of me in a heartbeat.”

For a moment, Michael was quiet. She looked down at their joined hands. Her eyes looked tired beyond measure. She glanced back up at him. “You haven’t changed.”

Anthony’s brow furrowed. “What’s that mean?”

He wasn’t answered. Michael stepped back, and with a bolt of lightning out of a clear sky, she was gone. The people around him screamed and scattered, horrified by the anomaly, but Anthony merely sighed.

It wasn’t that he _disliked _going back to Heaven. It was just something that had lacked intrigue as the years had wore on. He used to miss the way he could easily speak with Michael, Uriel, and Gabriel. He missed the way they used to smile and laugh with him. Now they were cold. Clinical. Almost uncomfortably distant… and it had all started after the Garden.

And, since the Garden, he’d rarely gone back. It wasn’t because he didn’t like them or felt his love for them waning… it was just tiring. Grating on the soul, as it were. Like being forced into a room full of strangers and trying to speak to them, feigning no discomfort. There was an underlying familiarity, but somehow, someway, Heavens’ clean, sterile walls scrubbed it all away and left Anthony feeling like a thief that somehow tripped and wandered into Heaven by mistake.

So he didn’t want to go back… what was the harm in that? Nothing, if he was perfectly honest. Principalities had enough on their plates to deal with. Spartans and Athenians constantly at war, the Peloponnesian conflict hanging in the sea… if Anthony was there, throwing around a miracle or two, who was Heaven to complain? It was one less thing for them to worry about.

Even so, Michael’s words stuck with him. He hadn’t changed. Hadn’t changed… from what? From when he was Raphael? He couldn’t even _remember _being called Raphael. He remembered waking up in the Garden, long, long ago. He remembered his Mother speaking to him, telling him he could choose his name. He remembered Her laughing when he asked questions. He remembered many things… but _nothing _about Raphael.

Taking a stroll to clear his head, Anthony found himself wandering past the hetaerae again. They waved, smiling, happy, and making money… and Anthony paused. He saw a familiar flash of platinum hair. Wandering back over (the girls always loved to have him there, they always found more pleasure with him in the vicinity) Anthony found himself staring down at the demon, Aziraphale.

He was asleep, lounging back against the pillows and clearly at ease with the work going on around him. It was probably a prime spot for temptation… but Aziraphale didn’t look interested in temptations of the flesh. No, he seemed perfectly content laid-out on their blankets and cushions.

So Anthony crawled in and laid down next to him.

Aziraphale hummed curiously, peeking open an eye to glace at him… and then closed his eyes again. “Anthony,” he said sleepily. “What a pleasant surprise.” Anthony smiled and scooted close, lifting Aziraphale’s arm so he could slot his body as close to Aziraphale’s as possible. Aziraphale made an unhappy noise. “Ugh, dear boy, darling angel… it’s too hot for that.”

With a snap of his fingers, Anthony was naked, and the chiton was banished to the incorporeal plane. Aziraphale arched a single blond eyebrow… but sighed in submission. Anthony curled close, happy to have a living, breathing pillow at his disposal.

Where Michael had offered to let him sleep on her wings, Anthony _knew _she wouldn’t follow-through. She was no one’s pillow, nor was she interested in sleep. She was loving, as all angels were, but she had limits. And he wouldn’t push past them.

But Anthony _liked_ to be near people. He liked to touch and be touched. He liked the excitement or fluttering, happy emotions. He liked to ramp up his Grace and send women spiraling with pleasure. He liked to see satisfaction and love and contentment as he laid near or with them.

And Aziraphale was no exception. He hadn’t seen him for a few years. Anthony had a hunch that he’d caused the Persians to attack and the Battle of Thermopylae to occur… but he had no evidence. Nor was he interested in dredging up old conflicts. He was just glad to have him back in plain sight. He had him there, under his hands, under his body. A leg hooked over Aziraphale’s hips and an arm thrown around his middle. Aziraphale had no limit when it came to touch. And Anthony _loved _it.

This was better than making love to a random human. This was better than causing minor miracles for fun. This was comfort incarnate. He got to feel the love that poured from Aziraphale’s very aura, and the shuddery, excited emotions that told Anthony that Aziraphale really _was _happy to see him. He liked listening to the sound of his breaths, slow and even and calm. He liked hearing livings sounds of Aziraphale’s body (it had come equipped with a heart, it would seem) and counting out the beats as his chest rose and fell.

He’d _missed _Aziraphale, and he would no doubt miss him when Aziraphale had to go off on another assignment. Would things have been different if Anthony had a real job to do? IF he had been an actual Principality with a duty to bear and tasks to complete? Probably. They’d see each other even less. It would be dreadful. Anthony sighed.

Aziraphale’s fingers traced along Anthony’s bare shoulder, just light enough to tickle as he said, “In Athens long, my dear?”

Anthony shrugged. “Long as I want to be.” He tilted his head back, his nose brushing the curve of Aziraphale’s jaw as he smiled and asked, “Why? Sick of me already?”

“On the contrary,” Aziraphale sighed, his eyes closed and muscles loose as his hand wandered to the crook of Anthony’s elbow, pulling his arm a little closer. “I’m glad you came wandering by.”

Anthony’s heart tugged painfully, and he buried his face in Aziraphale’s neck. It was hot and sweaty, and the summer heat did nothing to help. But he didn’t pull away as he said, “How long will you stay?”

“A week. It’s a routine temptation.” Anthony frowned. Then Aziraphale added, “Unless an angel were to get in my way.”

Anthony grinned and pressed a kiss to Aziraphale’s neck. He tasted the salt of his sweat and smelled the musk of tired perfume. He sighed happily. “If an angel gets in your way, will you stay through the month?”

“Ah, that eager to trap me, angel?” Aziraphale chuckled sleepily, then nodded. “Yes. I’ll stay.”

Content with himself, Anthony shifted until he was comfortably curled against Aziraphale, his naked body very comfortable against the silk. Aziraphale traced along his arm slowly… then slower… and eventually, his hand stopped moving altogether. Anthony watched him on the edge of sleep, his head tipping against the pillows as Anthony listened to his heartbeat.

“Aziraphale?”

There was a jolt in the routine beat… and then it settled. Aziraphale’s eyes didn’t open as he laid back and sighed. “Hmm?”

“Have I changed?”

Though his eyebrows knit together in confusion, Aziraphale didn’t open his eyes. “Since when, darling?”

Anthony shrugged. “Since… the beginning, I guess.” Aziraphale didn’t say anything. In the air, there was the unspoken question of ‘why’ that Aziraphale wasn’t willing to voice. Anthony frowned and said, “Michael said I haven’t changed.”

“Ah. And you’re curious.”

“Always am,” Anthony muttered. Light, curly chest hair was peeking out of the dark fabric of Aziraphale’s robes. Anthony pressed it flat. It curled back up as soon as his hand was lifted. He sighed and closed his eyes. “I don’t… don’t really know if I’ve changed. Have I?” He asked, a little anxious at the response. “Or am I just… the same?”

“I think you’ve changed,” Aziraphale said, and for some reason, those words came as a relief. Anthony smiled, like it was a satisfying statement, and relaxed against him as Aziraphale yawned, settled into the blankets, and pulled him a little closer. “You’re an angel. If anything, you’ve changed for the better.”

And that was enough for now.

+++++

Anthony had _heard _of the Library in Alexandria. More than that, he’d seen the outside of it. Great, marble walls and gleaming columns. It was a beautiful building full of brilliant minds. Scholars walked the dirt roads outside of it, asking questions and debating back and forth. Anthony had sat on a wall and watched… just listening. Just to hear what they said.

Socratic debates and questions were posed, and Anthony drank it up like sweet ambrosia. It was incredible to watch. Even better to _hear_. They were _learning_ things and asking these divine questions, not bothering to thing of whether or not it would offend Heaven or Hell or anything in-between. They were _brilliant_.

And then it all burned down.

This didn’t stop the questions, of course. They still spoke and ranted and debated… but it was a loss. A sheer, unnecessary loss that cut through what they knew and what they _could _have known. Years of theorizing, debating, thoughts and actions put to papyrus… just… gone. Anthony, of course, knew they could start over. They could think and theorize and question to their hearts’ content. But that wouldn’t make the books and scrolls reappear.

They couldn’t undo what Caesar had ordered.

So, Anthony mourned the library he’d never entered. It wasn’t a deep mourning. It was more of a melancholic pang. A sting of regret that told him ‘you should have seen it while you had the chance.’ And that was fine. He could handle a little regret. He wasn’t, after all, a big reader. He never had been. He enjoyed _listening _more than just staring at the pages.

But he knew that one particular _demon_ loved to read. He liked to hoard knowledge as if it were a deep, dark secret. He liked to whisper in the middle of symposiums and laugh when arguments broke out. Aziraphale was a foster of fine, articulated thought… and the burning in Alexandria was no doubt going to be a blow to his pride and contentment.

With nothing more he could do, Anthony went to comfort him. Aziraphale had been holing up in Rome for some time, tucking himself away in the heart of Italy with a comfortable apartment and plenty of wine. He’d been happy there, listening to the philosophers, writing down their conversations, and storing them away. But when Anthony arrived, that joy was nowhere to be found. The candles in his windows were dark. The sheer curtains were drawn, and no sound came from his home. Anthony sighed… and stepped inside.

He had brought wine and bread (two things that Aziraphale loved) in hopes of somehow softening the pain. Wine had a tendency to make things gentle and less achy… but in the dark of Aziraphale’s apartment, there was nothing but stark gloom. This wasn’t a pain to be soothed. This was a deep, aching hurt. Almost like betrayal… but not by one single person. This was an affront from the human race, and Anthony knew it.

He found Aziraphale laying in bed, his back to the door and golden curls mussed and unkempt. He looked ravaged, like the fire in the library had seared through him, too. His room was a mess. Papyrus everywhere. Blankets strewn across the floor. His gray robes twisted and body curled in on itself. Anthony set the wine aside.

“Aziraphale?” He asked, soft and hopeful. Aziraphale didn’t say anything. He did, however, curl in on himself a little tighter. Anthony sat at his bedside, reaching out to touch soft, careful fingers to the nape of his neck. “Aziraphale.”

“Hello, angel,” he croaked after a minute. His voice was broken. He didn’t turn to even look at him. In fact, Anthony felt he might break if he tried. “What brings you to… to Rome?”

He knew. Anthony _knew _that he knew. But he was gentle. An angel worthy of the name. He could feel _pain_ in Aziraphale, and he would do what he could to soothe the prickly ends of it. He crawled into the bed and laid with his chest curved against Aziraphale’s back. “Haven’t seen you for nearly… oh, what? A decade?”

Aziraphale laughed, and there was no humor in the sound. “Have you missed me, my dear?”

His voice was soft, frightened by the admission: “_Yes_.”

“That’s a damning confirmation, angel. Best not let Gabriel hear that.”

Anthony grimaced… and changed the subject. “You know what would make you feel better?”

“Killing the humans responsible?”

Anthony rolled his eyes. “Letting out your wings. You’re stifled.” Heaving a mighty sigh, Aziraphale still refused to look at him. “You’ll feel better, Aziraphale. Staying human all the time… grates on you.”

“I’m not human,” Aziraphale grumbled.

“You’re not _not _human,” Anthony replied. “And what’s wrong with that? Why not blend in with them? Isn’t there worth in being human? Asking questions?”

“I don’t ask questions.”

At that, Anthony went quiet. Something in his stomach turned unhappily… but he hadn’t eaten for nearly fifteen years. So it couldn’t be bad food. Maybe it was just anxiety. Hearing something in the edge of Aziraphale’s words. The bite to it… the sharp, curved tip of the blade as it went through unprotected flesh. Anthony pressed against him, his lips against Aziraphale’s neck as he sighed.

“I brought wine?”

“I’m not thirsty.”

“And bread.”

“I’m not _hungry_.”

Anthony frowned. “Then what can I do? What do you need, Aziraphale? How can I make you…” _how can I make you smile again? How can I make you look at me? Call me ‘darling’ again?_

Aziraphale was stiff as he pulled away, sliding off the bed and onto his feet. Anthony let him go, sitting up to watch Aziraphale roll his shoulders back… and let his wings free. Black feathers fluttered to the ground, wilted and sad as Aziraphale kept his back to Anthony. It was like he was molting… but it wasn’t nearly time for a molt. This was grief. Pure, unfettered anger and sadness. He had _loved_ that library. He’d told Anthony all about it years before.

_ “The smell of the candles, the feel of the pages, oh, Anthony. Oh, angel… you _must _come see it. I insist. It’s simply beautiful.”_

But Anthony never had. And now it was too late and Aziraphale was standing before him, his sleek, black wings hanging limp and sad at his sides as he stared at the wall, listless and tired.

“They’ll make a new library,” Anthony promised softly.

“Not like this one,” Aziraphale murmured, his voice hoarse and mournful. “Never like this one. Not again. It won’t be the same.”

Anthony scratched at linen blankets, discomforted and uneasy. “How… how can I make it better, Aziraphale? How can I help?”

Finally, Aziraphale turned to look at him, and Anthony’s breath caught. He looked _destroyed_. Like he was Falling all over again. His face was red and tears marked twin trails down his cheeks. He looked burned, scorned by the world. His brow furrowed in frustration. His blue eyes, still lacking any pupils, almost seemed to stare through him.

“You can’t, my darling,” he said after a moment. “You can’t make this hurt go away. No manner of healing miracles can bring back what they lost, today.”

Anthony stared in unabashed awe. “Why does it hurt you so much?” He whispered, genuinely caught. Aziraphale simply stared at him, and Anthony leaned forward to say, “Why does losing the library mean so much to you?”

“I don’t ask questions, angel.” His eyes slid away, looking past him as his wings lifted, fluttered, and let a few more loose feathers fall to the floor. “I’m… I’m a coward. I _can’t _ask questions. The library… it had _answers_. Answers to questions I wouldn’t even _think _to ask. And… and now,” his voice caught, his eyes filled to the brim, and he looked away. “And _now_…”

Anthony stood. He went to Aziraphale, taking his hands and kissing his knuckles one by one. Aziraphale watched. When he blinked, no more tears fell. He simply stared as Anthony kissed his hands. Reverent in his display, he kissed those hands had touched him kindly. He reached out to touch his wings. The wings that had shielded him from the first rain. He leaned forward to press their foreheads together. His mind, so full of thought… so full of painful, rotting emotion. Anthony kissed him softly, like he’d learned from humans over the years. A gentle press of lips, soft with a sigh and pushing only enough for Aziraphale to respond and open up to him.

And by _Heaven_ did he open. His lips parted as he reached up, fingers grasping at Anthony’s hair and holding tight. He kissed frantically, like Anthony was going to disappear at any moment. “_Darling_,” he said when he pulled back to taste his lips. “_Oh, Anthony_…”

Anthony could swallow him whole. He would be a Serpent from Eden, eating up Aziraphale like a small, sweet treat. He would lick his way into Aziraphale’s mouth, crawl inside and keep him company for the rest of his days. He would make Aziraphale glow from the inside-out, making him warm and happy so that he never, _ever _cried again. But the salt of his tears was bitter. The catch in his voice made Anthony’s chest hurt. This… _whatever it was _they were doing… it was going to get them in trouble. If either side saw them tangled up together, they’d be punished. But Aziraphale was grieving and he needed comfort… and Anthony had missed him. Oh, he’d missed him _so much_.

Their last conversation had been too short. They hadn’t smiled enough. Hadn’t touched enough. And now, when they finally meet again, it’s under such reprimandable circumstances? The world is a cruel place and the humans were all the crueler for it.

But this? This heat in his stomach and the feel of Aziraphale under him… this made him feel a little better. It washed away the pain and fear and made him think of this. Just _This_. Just Aziraphale wrapped around him, his pain melting away and body soft and rising up to meet him.

He wound his arms around Aziraphale’s neck, kissing until his lips felt bruised while Aziraphale gripped him and drew him in. He tasted sour, like bad wine. Hot and real like hellfire. Wet and warm as Anthony’s deft fingers scratched at the joints where Aziraphale’s wings met flesh. He was met with a low, heady moan.

It was probably for both of them, this… _whatever_ they did. The desperate kissing, the torrid embrace. Aziraphale was broken and shaking and Anthony wanted to be the gold that filled the cracks. He wanted to sculpt Aziraphale back up into his prim, smiling self with all the gentle smiles and laughter he usually had. He wanted to brush through Aziraphale’s curls and arrange them nicely so Aziraphale would be primped and preened as per the norm.

Aziraphale was broken… but it wasn’t just the library. No, there was more to it. His insistence on the questions. His hands trembling as he grasped at Anthony, holding, holding, trying to pull him impossibly closer. Their chests heaved with each breath, crushing each other as Aziraphale’s wings shook and sheltered them. There was more to this than met the eye… but Aziraphale was also a demon.

And demons do not give away their secrets lightly.

So, Anthony kissed him once, twice, then thrice more before he pulled back to see Aziraphale leaning in again, trying to catch him on the retreat. Anthony was gentle as he steered him back to the bed, sitting him down and reaching up to spread Aziraphale’s wings.

“Feels better, yeah?” Anthony said, as if his skin wasn’t flushed from his cheeks to his chest. Aziraphale stared up at him with breathless, hazy eyes. His hands came up, lifting Anthony’s tunic and running warm, calloused fingertips over soft, pale thighs. Anthony shivered, bracing himself against Aziraphale shoulders as he said, “I… can’t stay.”

Aziraphale’s hands stilled. “You’re leaving. After…” he looked up at Anthony curiously. “Where?”

“To run an errand.”

Aziraphale snorted and retracted his hands. “An _errand._”

“Quick miracle,” Anthony promised as he pressed a kiss to the crown of Aziraphale’s mussed, rioting hair. Aziraphale sighed, almost like he was resigned to seeing Anthony go… and Anthony kissed his hair again. “I’ll come back.”

“Don’t bother.” That stung, but Anthony didn’t say anything. Aziraphale continued thoughtlessly, “I’ve been reassigned. I’m to travel to Nazareth by the end of the week.”

“Nazareth,” Anthony repeated, committing the name to memory. He shrugged nonchalantly and said, “Maybe we’ll… run into one another.”

Aziraphale leaned forward, resting his forehead against Anthony’s chest tiredly. “Really, my dear, I… I rather hope we don’t. Nothing but trouble is coming to Israel. I think Downstairs is really winding up to take your lot down a peg.”

Anthony chuckled. “Worried for me?”

“Of course. I always am.”

“Soft old sod,” Anthony said as he played with the curly hairs at the nape of Aziraphale’s neck. Aziraphale sighed, content once more, and Anthony smiled. “I have to go.”

“Right, right. Run your errand, my dear. I’ll be here,” Aziraphale pulled away, his wings folding and slipping away back onto the incorporeal plane. Then, he laid down on the bed, quiet and sad as he murmured, “Mourning. Until I have to go, at the very least.”

Anthony hummed, reaching out to caress the curve of Aziraphale’s soft, round cheek with his knuckles. Aziraphale sighed again, and Anthony stepped back. He didn’t say anything and Aziraphale didn’t ask him to stay. But, he left the wine and the bread next to him, just in case.

There, he slipped away to find a specific politician. Rome was bursting with them, these days. Overflowing with pretentious, power-hungry mongrels that would sooner kill their sons than allow them to take their place. Anthony waded through the crowds of a hot, Roman spring. April was coming to a close… but by the second week of March, he would be satisfied. Aziraphale’s pain, along with the library, would be avenged.

“Brutus!” Anthony called, raising a hand in greeting as the politician paused, turned, and looked at him in surprise. Anthony grinned, flicking his long, red hair over his shoulder as he said, “Just the person I was looking for.”

“Well-met, friend.” The politician looked at him. A long, lingering onceover that was more than appreciative. This wasn’t strange. _Many _humans looked at Anthony like that; he was an angel, after all. A being of love that simply oozed affection and soft familiarity. Brutus smiled, and Anthony ignored the burning glint in his eye. “Have we… met before?”

“Ah, no. No, it’s… _nngk_, look. I’ve heard a rumor,” Anthony said as he looped an arm through Brutus’. The man walked with him, clearly intrigued, and Anthony knew he had him hooked. “See, I’ve heard something… about Caesar.”

Brutus went a little stiff as they walked, cautiously regarding Anthony like a man regards a viper laid across his garden path. “Caesar is a good friend.”

“Ah, but even the _best _of friends can plot things,” Anthony said. He laid it on thick, letting his Grace spill out in torrents. That Grace chipped away at Brutus’ anxiety and distrust, and the further they walked, the more he found himself hanging on Anthony’s every word. “You see,” said Anthony, his words carefully picked and voice perfectly scandalized. “I hear Caesar is planning to become King.”

+++++

The ring of a nail being driven into the cross was dishearteningly loud, and with each _slam _of the nail through flesh, bone, and wood, Anthony winced and pulled her headscarf close. Other women stood around her, watching quietly, weeping into their hands. The soldiers drove the nails in, Jesus gasped and cried and begged for God to forgive the sinners… and Anthony could only watch.

When a hand snuck around her waist, she didn’t pull away. Aziraphale came to stand close (much closer than necessary) and pulled at the waist of Anthony’s robes. More than anything, it felt like he was seeking physical reassurance, his palm warm and fingers grasping at the curve of Anthony’s hip as if it would give him something akin to comfort.

“Come to laugh at the poor fellow, have you?” Aziraphale asked, his eyes trained on the crude hammers and nails.

“I’m not laughing,” Anthony murmured, more grieved than irritated. “I just… didn’t want him to be alone.”

“So you’re watching.” A nail was punched through a dirty, bare hand, and Aziraphale flinched. Anthony hissed sympathetically, turning her face into Aziraphale blonde hair and hiding her eyes. After a few long, loud slams of the hammer against nails, Aziraphale said, “Lovely scarf.”

“Really?” Anthony snapped, her voice sharper than she’d meant. “_That’s_ what you’re talking about. My scarf.”

“It looks nice, my dear,” said Aziraphale. Another solid _whack _of the hammer, and he winced. “White linen wrapping up your red hair. Lovely look for a lady. Very fetching.”

“I wasn’t trying to look fetching.”

“You don’t have to try at all,” Aziraphale said tiredly. “You’re an angel. Impossible not to be lovely, I think.”

Desperate to change the subject, Anthony chanced a glance back at the cross. Jesus spasmed a bit, still crying. She turned her face back into Aziraphale shoulder. “Did you know him?” She asked, soft and wobbling. “Did you ever meet him?”

“Of course. Bright young fellow. Very clever.” Aziraphale paused almost like he was chewing his words. He sounded tremendously somber as he said, “I showed him all the kingdoms of the world.”

Anthony blinked. “Why?”

When Aziraphale spoke, it was clear he was lying. “He’s a carpenter from Galilee. His travel options are limited.” His blue eyes slid over to catch Anthony’s… before they snuck away. This time, he told the truth. “I thought I might give him a chance to see the world before he was unceremoniously killed.”

Jerking out of his arms, Anthony’s eyes went wide. “You _knew_ this would—” she stopped, lowered her voice, and growled, “You _knew _he was going to—”

“I only know what humanity has shown us in the past, angel. I know they crave information… but more often than not, it’s not the information they want. So, they lash out, looking for _someone_ to blame.” He twitched when the hammer was swung again, and his eyes narrowed perceptibly. “And that almost always includes violence, my dear. It’s in their nature."

At that, Anthony was slightly soothed. She leaned against Aziraphale again, her hands catching on black linen and holding tight when the cross was raised and displayed. She flinched and looked away. “So you showed him the kingdoms of the world.”

“Tried to change his mind,” Aziraphale said tiredly, his voice worn and sad. “I tried to talk him out of his pilgrimage… but he had faith. He said that was all he needed. Faith.”

“Faith,” Anthony repeated, her voice hardly more than a whisper as she closed her eyes. Her eyes watered. Her chest felt tight. She curled against Aziraphale’s shoulder and whispered, “What use is faith if he has to die? Why have faith when—”

“Don’t,” Aziraphale snapped harshly, his words far less kind than what Anthony knew. Even so, she bit her tongue and let Aziraphale hold her. “Don’t ask something like that. Ask me anything else, my darling, but… a question like that is nothing but trouble.”

“Why does She let this happen? Why does She let them die, even if they _believe_? Isn’t She supposed to love them? Isn’t She supposed to… isn’t She…” Anthony asked, her voice soft. Aziraphale glowered… but didn’t answer.

Anthony didn’t ask again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on tumblr @ misplaced-my-notes  
See you next chapter!


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